Whispers - Volume 2: A Second Collection Read online

  Whispers – Vol. 2

  By

  Stuart Keane

  "Sheer scary, shocking brilliance."

  "Stuart – clearly a student of the late great Richard Laymon – has an keen sense for what makes horror such an entertaining and enthralling genre, and he understands that the story will hit all the harder if the reader can relate."

  "He is an author moving in the right direction as far as modern horror fiction is concerned."

  "Stuart Keane has a way with words that leaves me so weak in the knees. This guy knows your weak spot - he's going to keep on poking it until it makes your blood run cold - and he isn't sorry for doing so."

  "This book has cemented Keane as a true kingpin of English horror."

  "Stuart Keane has taken the baton from Shaun Hutson, in the race for British horror gold."

  "A remarkable writer, and a brilliant story teller."

  "Keane might only be a newcomer to the writing scene in terms of published output, but already he exhibits that he has the writing chops and skillset to turn out some exemplary material."

  "Stuart – clearly a student of the late great Richard Laymon – has an keen sense for what makes horror such an entertaining and enthralling genre, and he understands that the story will hit all the harder if the reader can relate."

  "Keane is a horror writer that shouldn't be missed."

  Copyright © Stuart Keane 2015

  Cover art copyright © Mark Kelly 2015

  Published: 30th November 2015

  Publisher: Stuart Keane

  The right of Stuart Keane to be identified as author of this Work has been asserted by him in accordance the Copyright, Designs and Patents Act 1988.

  All rights reserved.

  This eBook is copyright material and must not be copied, reproduced, transferred, distributed, leased, licensed or publicly performed or used in any way except as specifically permitted in writing by the publishers, as allowed under the terms and conditions under which it was purchased or as strictly permitted by applicable copyright law. Any unauthorised distribution or use of this text may be a direct infringement or the author’s and publisher’s rights and those responsible may be liable in law accordingly.

  ‘Whispers – Volume 2' is a work of fiction. Names, characters, businesses, organizations, places, events, and incidents either are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.

  For more information about the author, please visit www.stuartkeane.com

  For more information about the artist, please visit www.zgrimv.com

  For more information about Mark Parker, and Scarlet Galleon publications, please visit www.scarletgalleonpublications.com

  Contents

  The Tale of Sadie Barker

  First published in Urban Legends: Emergence of Fear – July 7th, 2015

  Publisher: J Ellington Ashton Press

  Urban Legend

  Original story

  Animalocalypse

  First published in Rejected for Content 2: Aberrant Menagerie - March 29th, 2015

  Publisher: J Ellington Ashton Press

  Bedroom Secrets

  Original story

  Falling Apart

  Original story

  Casualty of War

  First published in In The Trenches: The Psychological Impact of War - June 28th, 2015

  Publisher: Verto Publishing

  The Swan Song

  First published in Axes of Evil II – March 20th, 2015.

  Publisher: J Ellington Ashton Press

  Hodmedod

  First published in Dead Harvest – October 28th, 2014.

  Publisher: Scarlet Galleon Publications

  Find out more about the publishers on their websites.

  www.jellingtonashton.com

  www.vertopublishing.com

  www.scarletgalleonpublications.com

  Here We Go Again …

  The short story.

  And so it comes to this, another collection of short tales; Whispers – Volume 2: A Second Collection. Funny, I never envisioned that I would write enough short tales for a first volume, let alone a second. 2014 was a very productive year, so a second volume became an eventuality once I'd scribed enough stories to fill two books.

  I have two common denominators of the literary world to thank for this.

  First, the anthology invite. After submitting work to several submission calls in 2014, I began to receive personal invites from editors, who'd read my work and wanted me to be involved in their respective projects. Each was a flattering gesture, one that came from nowhere and caught me completely by surprise. This whole process has changed my mind about the short story – initially, I balked at the idea of writing one; I like to include detail in my stories (something that is always restricted by a short word count), but when Vermillion: A Traveller's Tale dropped in Journals of Horror: Found Fiction, my first ever short story, it gave me the bug, the urge to write more. I loved the challenge of sticking to a theme and a set word count; I found it pushed me to consider new ideas, to potentially step out of my safe, comfortable danger zone.

  And now, people are enjoying my horror writing, which is all the inspiration I need to continue. Even as I draft this, my eyes flick to the wall of Post-It notes on my desk, and I continue to plan my next short in a deep recess of my normal but slightly macabre, horror mind.

  Always working, always writing.

  Which brings me to the second thing: The Readers. Without you, this wouldn’t be happening. I've heard a lot of complimentary things over the past few years. I love it every time a reader – new or old – approaches me and praises me for a particular book, gushes over a certain character, gets mad at me for killing one of their beloved heroes … the list goes on. It’s the one reason I encourage interaction, and the reason I have no trouble with meeting and chatting to my readers. After all, without you, I wouldn’t be writing, and I certainly wouldn’t have the inspiration to fill more than one book of short stories.

  For that, I thank you.

  Now? I need to prepare for Whispers – Volume 3. It's a way off, but the intention and planning is there. In the meantime, enjoy Whispers – Volume 2: A Second Collection. It has some nasty little tales, some of my favourites, all wrapped in a deliciously eerie cover by Mark Kelly.

  For now, I hand you over to Mark Parker, who took some rare time out of his busy schedule to provide some kind words about yours truly.

  - Stuart Keane

  HODMEDOD, HORROR AND HAPPY ENDINGS

  Hodmedod.

  Until a year ago, I had never heard the term before. Not until I received Stuart Keane’s story submission of the same title for Scarlet Galleon Publications’ inaugural anthology Dead Harvest: A Collection of Dark Tales. Shortly thereafter, I learned that Hodmedod was simply Britain’s equivalent of our Americanized scarecrow.

  It was during this time that I first encountered Stuart’s work, which caught my attention for a number of reasons. Suffice it to say it had several ‘characteristics’ I found entertaining, chilling, and audacious in equal measure.

  His first-ever published work (Hodmedod, collected herein) was imbued with a kind of icy, swift, fresh, effective narrative that immediately pulled me in, and forced me to endure every single agony along with his characters—as if they were happening to me directly.

  His writing is brash, brutal, and even a bit beautiful, as strange as that may sound.

  I have commented to Stuart on several occasions how much I appreciate the immediacy he lends to his work, which I find quite effective in telling the
kind of problematic tales he tells. In this way, he not so much tells—or even shows—his readers what is happening as the plot unfolds, but rather transports them to the action firsthand, causing them to experience the same level of fear and trepidation his characters must.

  With Hodmedod you will see what I mean. I won’t give anything away, you’ll just have to trust me on this point. The kind of up close and personal vantage point I am referring to, charges Stuart’s work with an unexpected energy that is intense, unnerving, and unyielding. Not only does he force you to encounter the conflict along with his characters, but he holds you tightly by the neck and thrusts you headlong into their dilemmas, forcing you to take in the sights, smells and terrors along the way. Much like a rubberneck driver witnessing a twenty-car pileup on the interstate, although you hasten to gander a glimpse of the wreckage as you roll by, you find yourself unable to turn away—at least not before managing to get in a peek or two.

  In the ever-expanding world of indie publishing, writers like Stuart Keane are given both the opportunity—and platform—to push the creative boundaries in ways that traditional publishing might have never allowed. While there are most assuredly rules that all writers of any quality must follow, this sort of venue admittedly affords the boundaries to be overstepped just a bit further than normal, in an effort to offer readers an unforgiving brand of horror that doesn’t necessarily tie everything up in a pretty package at the end, giving the reader the kind of happy ending they may have grown accustomed to over the years.

  Rather, one is left with a kind of mindboggling uncertainty around whether or not what they just read was as chilling and disturbing as first thought. I suppose only you can be the judge of that. I will let you get to the stories. There are eight in all, beginning with “The Tale of Sadie Barker” and ending with “Hodmedod” itself.

  Trust me when I say, you’re in for a real treat. But before you dig in, please remember not all sweets linger on the palate quite the same. Some are sugary, some are bland, and some are downright bitter.

  But, again, you’ll have to be the judge of which flavor lingers best.

  - Mark Parker, Founder and Publisher

  Scarlet Galleon Publications

  For the readers who like their stories short and sweet. Again.

  The Tale of Sadie Barker

  "What's the time?"

  Alex flicked his wrist, checked his watch, a Gold Rolex, and smirked. "Just after eight. We've got hours yet."

  "We have class in the morning," replied Mike, a hint of trepidation in his voice.

  "You're telling me you need to attend? I can guarantee those scholarships, my Dad's money will see to that. Chill out a little, have another beer." Alex held two fingers outstretched with a fresh bottle between them.

  "No thanks, I'm driving. Or did that skip your attention?"

  "Okay, chill. Man, you can be a downright pussy sometimes."

  "A downright pussy who drives sensibly and doesn’t get a DUI in the middle of a scholarship … I don’t see the issue here."

  Both boys remained silent. The car rolled smoothly on. Outside the Mercedes, the dusk passed them quietly, the purple and orange clouds casting a somber but beautiful glow on the earth below it. Mike turned the vehicle around a gradual bend. The silhouettes of several unidentified trees scratched at the night sky, passing silently.

  "Fancy a six pack?" Mike asked, darting his eyes from the road to the rearview mirror and back again.

  "We have one here. You just said you didn’t want any beer."

  "No, not beer. I mean from Donut Diner. I could murder one of their six treat boxes. Some coffee would be good too, since we're going to be up late."

  "I didn’t bring my wallet," Alex lied.

  "No worries. It's my idea. My treat."

  "I'm so in," Alex smiled.

  The Mercedes steered into a second bend. The foliage started to thin out until hardly any greenery remained, and the tree line gave way to the beautiful night sky. The boys could see down into the canyon, protected by only a road barrier and common sense.

  Something caught Alex's attention.

  "Hey, Mike?"

  "Yep?"

  "Pull over here."

  Mike nodded and did as instructed, bringing the car to a slow. The vehicle halted on the loose gravel layby, its tires crunching loudly in the silent, evening air. He put the car in park and turned to his friend. "What is it?"

  "I just wanted to stop for a second."

  "Why?"

  "Don’t you recognise this place, this road?"

  "They all look the same to me."

  "Man, you're such a loser."

  "Unless you explain why, I'm going to smack you in the teeth and leave you on the road."

  "Whoa, whoa. Okay. Hold this." Alex handed his half-empty beer to Mike and unbuckled his seatbelt. "Come on, put the beer in a cup holder or something and get!"

  Mike sighed. Asshole.

  Both boys climbed from the car, smooth clunks sounded as both doors opened and let in the cool, chilly air. Alex's loafers crunched gravel once more as he rounded the Mercedes and placed a hand on the warm hood. His other hand lifted into the gloom and pointed. "Over there … that's where it happened."

  Mike walked to his friend and squinted, gazing into the blackness. The purple and orange clouds had subsided now, leaving them in near darkness. As he squinted, a streetlight flickered to life, barely breaking a streak through the gloom. Mike returned to the car and leaned in the driver door. Alex chuckled. "You pussy."

  The headlights illuminated the sight before them, sending stark rays of brightness onto the road and its surrounding features. Mike returned with a smirk on his face. "At least we can see … now, what were you saying?"

  Alex nodded. "Over there, that's where it happened."

  "What happened?"

  "Sadie."

  "Sadie Barker?"

  "The one and only."

  "No way. You're lying."

  "Why would I lie? You know me … I'd do anything for a sick joke."

  Mike nodded. "True. You sick fuck."

  Alex stepped away from the hood. "Sadie Barker, seventeen years of age, broke down in her clapped out Ford, right over there." He pointed. Following the finger, Mike noticed a bend in the road, skirted by a gravel layby into a makeshift corner. At the corner, was a tree; behind the guardrail, twisted and wilted from years of weather abuse. It rustled patiently in the wind, moving gently. Mike could see several scratches and dents on the guardrail, no doubt from multiple collisions over the years. Alex stepped forward again. "Her car broke down and she called for help. However, this is Widows Peak. There isn't any phone signal here. Not even one bar. Go ahead - check it for yourself. I'll wait."

  "What a story teller you are." Mike rolled his eyes and lifted his phone from his front pocket. He glanced at the screen. There was no signal. Alex was right. "Well, when you’re right, you're right."

  "I'm always right. You know this," Alex chuckled. "Anyway, so Sadie had no signal and she was stranded. All she could do was wait in her car and hope someone stopped to help. And … well, you know the rest."

  "I actually don’t … and I don’t want to know," Mike said and then groaned, realising his mistake. This was Alex, after all.

  "Well, let me enlighten you. This story will go down in our town's history. Not much does. Every resident should know its history."

  "I don’t give a shit. You know I'm not good with –"

  "– Two hours later," Alex interrupted, "a van pulled up with two men in it. Sadie, from what I heard anyway, was only too happy to let them help her. Desperation makes people do stupid things. That was her first mistake. She got out of the car."

  Mike rubbed his face, his dry lips stuck to the palm of his hand, and he groaned again. "I don’t want to hear this."

  "Well, you're gonna! So, she gets out of the car and the two men stay put. She approached the passenger side and asked for a jump-start or a lift back home. She doesn’t care; sh
e could come and collect her heap of shit the next day. So, she asks for help. And one of the guys turns to her and says, 'What's it worth?' At this point, Sadie is desperate in all the wrong ways. She offers them the total amount of money in her purse, which was seventeen dollars. They scoff and don’t reply; they simply drive off and leave her there. Sadie, rejected and scared, not to mention upset, returns to her car."

  "Assholes."

  "Indeed." Alex scratched his stubble-mottled jaw, curing an itch. "Then, it gets interesting."

  "I don’t want to know the rest. I read the story, the cliff notes, that's enough."

  Alex ignored his friend. "The van reverses back to the car and Sadie, caught off guard, wipes the tears away and exits the vehicle once more. Big mistake number two. You see, when the men climb out of the car, they're wearing sacks over their heads. Neither are armed, but both are primed for a fight or something worse. In this light, with her heightened fear, to a defenseless woman, you can imagine the reaction."

  Mike crossed his arms. "I can only imagine …"

  "No, you can't," Alex replied curtly.

  Mike rolled his eyes and let Alex continue. "From what I heard, she was petrified and froze, not moving from the spot. At this point, she was in the middle of the left lane. When the first guy reached her and punched her in the face, breaking her nose, she hit the deck hard. Her head bounced off the concrete and, I heard, it ruptured both eyes."

  "How can you even know that?"