Hindered Souls: Dark Tales for Dark Nights, page 1
Hindered Souls
Dark Tales for Dark Nights, Volume I
Edited by M.R. Tapia
© 2016 by
M.R. Tapia
Gary Buller
Jeremy Joseph Light
Marie Anderson
Christine Makepeace
Craig Bullock
Kevin M. Folliard
Joseph Benedict
Raven McAllister
Robert Allen Lupton
Theresa Braun
Jeff Dosser
Bekki Pate
William Marchese
Wondra Vanian
Mileva Anastasiasou
Gareth Gray
DJ Tyrer
Sarah Gribble
Kristyl Gravina
Brian Hamilton
Cover art ©2016 by Kris Hallford
Cover layout ©2016 by M.R. Tapia
Hinderedsouls.com
All rights reserved. No part of this book may be used or reproduced in any manner whatsoever without written permission of author except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical articles and reviews.
This book is a work of fiction. The characters, incidents, and dialogue are drawn from the authors’ imagination and are not construed to be real. Any resemblance to actual events, locales or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.
ISBN-13: 978-1534966031
ISBN-10: 153496603X
For every soul out there, lost and found. Those which shine unscathed, and those dull with scars. If you aren’t here, you will be soon. You’ll see.
We shall all be together.
Table of Contents
Page Title
5 Introduction
6 Shelf Life by Gary Buller
17 Burial Lovers by Jeremy Joseph Light
19 Degeneration-X by M.R. Tapia
31 Damaged Goods by Marie Anderson
36 Magic Hour by Christine Makepeace
45 Baby Bird by Craig Bullock
53 Cornstalk by Kevin M. Folliard
64 Just What You Need by Joseph Benedict
71 Between Hits by Marie Anderson
74 With the Devil in Your Eyes by Raven McAllister
88 Treehouse by Robert Allen Lupton
91 While My Guitar Gently Weeps by Theresa Braun
101 Movie Time by Jeff Dosser
104 The Nightmare by Bekki Pate
114 Diamonds In The Midnight by M.R. Tapia
119 Grapes Of Humanity by Robert Allen Lupton
122 Tonight Forever by William Marchese
136 Rose by Wondra Vanian
147 Autumn Leaves In Flames by Mileva Anastasiadou
149 Ashes by Gareth Gray
157 Boufonoula by DJ Tyrer
166 Beast by Sarah Gribble
171 Your Own Worst Nightmare by Kristyl Gravina
174 Sideways Glances by Brian Hamilton
180 Old Timer’s by M.R. Tapia
192 Author Biographies
Introduction
We live in a voyeuristic age. Sadism and masochism takes a space in each and every one of our souls whether we realize it or not. The horror of pain and suffering come along our treading through life, and we stop to look. Highway car accidents. Videos of beheadings. Internet and social media flood our days with headlines and photos of the ugliness this world has to offer. We swipe our thumbs across videos filled with death and near misses. Not one of us truly wonder about the lives and events that lead to such stories. Stories which embed themselves into our thoughts. Our dreams. Well, to those who keep their doors and windows open after dusk, to those with hearts of stone, close your eyes and listen. On dark nights, the winds whisper these tales for our souls to hear. It tells of tales which have slipped through the cracks of our existence. Dark tales of the misfortune and terror that left ourselves and others in peril, leaving behind…Hindered Souls.
Shelf Life
by Gary Buller
for Lisa
"Clean-up on aisle 199, clean-up on 199."
Evan screwed his face into an agonised wince, as the chirpy voice whined like tinnitus inside his migraine threatened head. He spat a tooth out from between fat lips that were still caked with blood, afraid to remove his white knuckles from the handlebar of the trolley. It was his life preserve in this sea of madness, and he felt that if he let go then he would be lost forever. The incisor hit the floor in a small, bug spatter of red and then bounced from view.
Above him he could feel the lights, beaming down at him from the ceiling of this place. They distorted all the surfaces around him, tinting them a sickly yellow colour, the colour of spoiled egg yolk. He felt like a cowboy, trekking through the Mojave Desert in a Spaghetti Western.
"Why's this place so damn bright...so...hot?" he muttered to no-one in particular. The throbbing in his head subsided a little, and he could see rows upon rows of shelves. They stretched into the distance, as far as the eye could see. Agonisingly bright colours mashed and melded into browns, reds and yellows, like a lunatic child's well used play dough.
Her auburn hair bobbed along rhythmically at the front of the trolley, accompanied by the clickety-clack of her heels, and the conspiratorial squeak of one rogue wheel. Evan struggled to recall the last time he had actually seen his wife's face; during the attack possibly? Evan shook his head, in a slow fatigued sort of way. No, he thought, she just kept on walking.
He had no idea what purposeful compulsion had taken charge of his other half since they first came through those sliding doors. At first it was frightening, even by her standards. Now, well, he just took it for granted. Somehow that was scarier.
Evan would have much rather stayed at home and watched the news, he wished that he had. The recent meteor showers, silver tipped rockets in the local skies, would have been much more interesting than frozen burgers and pre-packed pasta. At least that was a new experience, something different. He ran a tongue across the holes in his front teeth, and his throbbing, chapped lips. That experience had certainly been different too. How long ago did it happen now? Hours? Days? Time did not exist in this place.
****
Finally, his wife spoke "Oh my goodness, Evan! They've got that softener at half price! You know the one, don't you? The one that smells of vanilla?" He could see her lips moving as butterfly flutters of red at the side of a face, hidden in the shadow of her hair. His stomach lurched a little, it might have been his fevered mind, but there was definitely something 'uncanny valley' about his other half.
He nodded wearily, and stopped the trolley. She followed the same routine that she always did; took the lid off, stuck her nose in, sniffed and then prompted him to do the same.
"Surprise, surprise it smells like vanilla." he said, the dry and weary voice coming out of his mouth didn't sound like his own. "Just like the last twenty bottles we have purchased. Of exactly the same softener."
No response came, but the canary yellow bottle landed in his trolley with a 'thunk,' and slid down into a corner of the metal cage. It did not have far to fall. Evan looked at the miniature landfill that towered in front of him- it was level with his nose. He wondered how many of these things they actually needed, and how much it would cost. It caused a warm wave of anger to rise from within his gut, and blossom into a migraine as sharp as a glowing poker.
They turned a corner, and Evan squinted through the pain- down an aisle lined with tangerine coloured tins and containers as far as his eyes could see. A sign above them, mercifully blocking out one of the lights read; 'Aisle 301: Baked Beans.' He wondered who stocked these shelves, and how long it took, as he watched the waves of heat distortion in the far distance. He hadn't seen any shop employees since they first entered this place.
"Beans!" his wife suddenly exclaimed, rousing him from thought. She said this, as if they'd just stumbled on the lost city of Atlantis. "We need some baked beans don't we, Evan?" She didn't wait for a response, and instead click-clacked over to one of the shelves and started perusing tins. "Goodness me, look at all the varieties!"
Leaning on the handle in front of him, Evan lowered his head and started to count the little stone patterns on the while linoleum floor. He cast his mind back to the encounter with the man, back on aisle 98. He had seen lunatics in the films, ranting and raving- but this guy was something else. His last words; "There's only one way out of here," echoed in Evan's mind, and a cold chill spread up his back like morning frost.
Evan had watched dumbstruck, with blood cascading from his freshly broken mouth as the suited man lowered his head, arms out behind him like a child playing aeroplanes. With velocity he ran, and smashed a forehead still embedded with the small white stones of Evan's teeth into a display containing pizza cutters, and potato peelers. Two display hooks pierced his eyes and came out of the back of his head. He had been laughing manically until the end, his red tie flapping out behind him like a kite in the wind.
There he had stuck, twitching, like an insect pinned to a board. A white, golf ball sized object popped out of one of the gaping holes, through his silver hair. Evan was revolted to see an eyeball, still attached to the optic nerve, hang loosely down the back of the man's neck. Blood dripped on the floor with a tap, tap, tap like rain fr
"This tin only has two hundred calories," she said, rousing him from thought. She looked up at him with wide, manic eyes, tilted her head like an excited dog. "What do you think? Low calorie, or full fat?"
Evan raised, and then dropped his aching shoulders in a shrug. He genuinely could not have cared less. They both clunked into the trolley. His calves and feet ached, as the couple pushed onwards. He was wearing nothing but his boxer shorts, socks and trainers. His back glistened with a constantly renewing film of sweat, reflecting the ceiling lights. He had been so bored and irritated back on aisle 190 that in a fit of frustration he had removed everything else, and left his clothes discarded on the floor.
Up ahead, two distorted specks eventually became another couple, walking towards them. The woman wore a t-shirt two sizes too small for her, stretched over massive bosoms. The words 'Domestic Princess' were written on the front in pink glitter. She had a family sized chocolate bar in one hand, and a sizeable portion of it smeared across her face like a clown's make-up. Evan approached with trepidation given his last encounter, but this couple seemed harmless, in a lifeless, detached way.
Behind the domestic princess, a skinny man, with rows of xylophone ribs pushed a trolley along, piled ten feet high. He too had removed most of his clothes, revealing sweaty, pasty skin. His head was low, as he sobbed quiet, sorrowful tears. He looked up at Evan with red eyes as they walked past, but did not break pace.
"There's no exit," the skinny man said to Evan, desperation and panic threatening on the edge of his voice. "It just goes on forever, and ever…" he started to cry again, fresh tears rolling down his gaunt cheeks. “Please help me..."
Evan shamefully looked down and continued his walk, he did not want to dwell on it, frightened that he'd lose his mind. Behind them, the couple lay a trail of empty wrappers and bottles. Evan was reminded of the trail of sweets that Hansel and Gretel had left in the forest. Or was that breadcrumbs? He wondered if he would ever find his way back home.
Suddenly realising how thirsty he was, he took a can of warm pop off the pile in front of him, and removed the ring-pull with a hiss. He gulped it down in one long chug, and burped. There were only two cans left, he hadn't seen a drinks aisle for a long time.
The sound system made a distorted 'Bing-bong' noise, and Evan reached to cover his ears, before the whining started again. "Sale now on!" a female voice said, "Our prices are out of this world!" The volume was far too loud, even with his sweaty palms up against his ears. Evan resisted a sudden urge to cry.
The hairs on the back of Evan's neck bristled as he heard the sounds of yelling up ahead. "You hear that?" he asked his wife, but it was more of a rhetorical question- he was all too used to being ignored. He tried to see up ahead, but could not see past the waves of distortion. The screaming and profanity increased in volume as they approached the source. Evan's worried temples pulsed with every syllable of the angry male voice.
Evan held back as a shirtless man, in his late thirties came into view. He might have been looking in a mirror, for blood ran down the shirtless man's chin and down his chest, from a mouthful of broken teeth. His eyes rolled in their sockets, like marbles. Evan's wife was oblivious, and dropped another tin into the trolley.
"She won't listen to me!" he was screeching to himself, both hands pressing against the sides of his face. "You just won't bloody well listen. Will you!?" The man's wife, a pretty blonde in a purple shirt and leggings stood ten yards behind him, engrossed in something on one of the displays.
"Hellllooo," the man shouted. "Earth to Melissa! Earth to Melissa! I know you love shopping, but this takes the biscuit!" He widened his arms out, as if sacrificing himself to an unseen god, and then burst out in peals of high pitched laughter. Evan's blood ran cold.
Melissa glanced up briefly, shaking her head like a disapproving mother, doing her best to ignore a naughty child. If anything, she cut a slightly embarrassed figure.
"Men are useless to them! Useless!" chuckled the loon, launching a tin of beans into the air. As it landed he head-butted it, a fresh gash opening on his forehead, claret spilling down his bruised cheeks. “Lambs...To....The...Slaughter!”
Two shop attendants in bright yellow tabards came from nowhere. One of them approached the man from the front, palms out flat in a placating gesture. The other came from behind holding a neon blue syringe. It was quickly dispatched into his neck, and the man collapsed in a heap on the floor with a slap, convulsing wildly. A pale blue foam leaked from between his lips, and also from around his eyes as his head shook from side to side. It looked like he was saying an emphatic 'no.'
Eventually he came to a stop, and the two figures grabbed his arms and legs, placing him on the trolley with the rest of the shopping. Melissa thanked them, and a tin of barbecue beans joined the corpse as they mopped up the mess. As Evan and his wife approached, the yellow tabards walked off to the right, and out of view. He wasn't sure if it was exhaustion, or his imagination, but there was no right turn in sight.
"Hello." Evan's wife said to Melissa, as they walked past.
"Lovely day for it." The widow pushed the corpse laden trolley in the opposite direction. Evan's wife nodded, and smiled.
****
Evan might have fallen asleep on his feet, but he couldn't be sure. He came around following an unexpected change of direction, as his wife gently guided the trolley around the corner and into another aisle. It tasted like someone had taken a turd in his mouth. This section was lined with clothing, going on and on ad nauseam- like the devil's wardrobe. There was a rich smell of material and leather. The back of his wife's head still bobbed along enthusiastically on those heels, glancing left and right at the brightly coloured wares.
The items inside the trolley had increased by another third. The stuff at the very bottom looked crushed, and some of the bananas and apples had started to grow a milky grey fur. A carton of milk had burst, and was dripping a thick, yoghurty substance behind them.
"Look at this!" Evan's wife shrieked suddenly.
Evan jolted upright from a welcome descent back into oblivion, and his calf muscle tightened in a painful cramp. He screamed and clutched the back of his leg, but she paid him no mind.
"This is so my colour Evan!" she said, picking out a peach shirt with the word 'Goddess' graffitied on the front of it. She turned, and held the shirt up in front of herself, looked down at it, and then back up at him with strangely dull eyes. Evan wondered if this was a distortion caused by the heat.
"So, what do you think?"
"I...Uh..." his tongue was thick with fatigue
"Evan!" she barked, "Do you like it or not!?"
"Umm..." He looked at the garment, exhausted. "Yes....I...suppose I like it."
"Why?" she asked.
This caught him off guard. His sluggish mind fought hard at processing this one, little word. It was as loaded and as dangerous as that syringe he had seen earlier.
"It...matches your skin tone?" he tried.
"I think so too." she said with a smile, and he exhaled with relief. She threw four into the trolley- all different colours. Evan was confused.
Like a marathon runner on the final straight, he kept putting one foot in front of the other. He was leaning heavily on the trolley now, and his trainers squeaked and scrabbled along the polished surface below him as he tried to gain purchase. They eventually passed the corpse of a man who had stuck a wire coat-hanger through one eye. He was sat up against a rack of clothes, in a pool of his own liquids. His shirt was unbuttoned, and papery skin stretched across his rib cage beneath.
"How strange," Evan's wife commented. "I didn't know they even made wire coat hangers any more."
Evan concentrated on looking down at the floor, once again.
Above, the tannoy banshee screeched with feedback.
"We are offering a special 'opening day' promotion for all the ladies in the house today," she giggled, "the trip of a lifetime! See checkouts for details."
Almost at his wits end, Evan wanted to die.
****
The strangest thing about the supervisor was his face. Or the lack of it.
