Twisted Tales Read online

  The stories contained within Twisted Tales are works of fiction. Names, characters, places, 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 coincidence.

  Copyright © by Edward Grey

  All rights reserved.

  Cover Design and Image © by

  Jennifer Wilson

  www.amazon.com

  www.edward-grey.com

  1st Edition - eBook

  ALSO BY EDWARD GREY

  DARK HEARTS

  COMING SOON

  SHADOWS OF THE MIND

  TO KILL A ROSE

  This book is dedicated to my editor, my cover designer, and to the person dedicated in the Afterword. Thank you all.

  TWISTED TALES

  CONTENTS

  A Dark Secret

  Righteous Killer

  Father Dearest

  Rage

  Dr. Zombie

  A Man Apart

  The Warehouse

  City of Demons

  The Sins of the Soul

  Black Winter

  Afterword:

  A Note to the Reader

  Bonus First Chapter from

  Shadows of the Mind

  A Dark Secret

  A dark place in the confines of the human mind provides dangerous thoughts. While people assume this is the darkest place of all, the reality born from these thoughts prove to be far darker. Even though Mike had known this to be true, he was destined to witness it first-hand.

  The road ahead was empty. He hadn’t seen a car for miles, but he wasn’t surprised because he was in the middle of the California desert.

  He glanced into the rear view mirror, and watched the night douse the remaining fire from the sky as the dying sun slowly fell into the horizon. It was such a beautiful display of nature that he wanted to pull onto the shoulder and watch it while the soft churn of crickets serenade him. However, he was on a strict schedule, and didn’t have time to bask in its beauty.

  As he drove down the highway, the headlights played across the dry foliage at the side of the road, and soon a sign appeared in the distance. Within seconds, he was able to read it: PUMPKIN TOWN 2 MILES.

  He thought it was a peculiar name for a town, but it didn't surprise him. In the middle of nowhere, it wasn't uncommon for low populated towns to have names based off something that had significance to their community. Still, the name made him think that he was about to pass through a weird Halloween town. Instead of buildings, he envisioned large hallowed pumpkins with angelic jack-o-lantern faces for windows and doors. The homes would be illuminated by log fires that cast the very same flickering shadows found on Halloween night. Next, he pictured a hag wearing a pointy hat with a mole the size of Cincinnati riding on a broom. He chuckled at his ridiculous imagination.

  About a mile before the exit to Pumpkin Town, a sign with an archaic depiction of the town’s amenities appeared. In addition to the usual gas stations and eateries, there was also lodging.

  Though it was only a quarter passed six and he could drive for another hour, he felt encouraged to stop. He had seen strange cities, and this one was probably no different in lifestyle from those. However, he loved Halloween themes, and Pumpkin Town was a perfect candidate for supporting his favorite holiday feeling. It was that sense of excitement and childish wonder that lured him, and even though it might make him an hour behind schedule, it would be worth it.

  Mike exited the highway and followed the off-ramp to Harvest Avenue. After a small length of desert, he reached the town.

  As he entered, a wonderful display of Victorian architecture greeted him. Some of the roofs were flat, while many of them came to high points like the steeple upon a church. Nearly all of them were painted with various shades of red, white, and grey.

  He passed a few stores, and each window brandished some type of pumpkin reference or knick-knack. Although most were closed, he wanted so badly to enter them if only to walk around and admire the simplicity of their design and the complexity of their past.

  As he reached the center of town, the main road poured into a round-a-bout that encircled an enormous pumpkin. Its size almost seemed unreal, and he might have thought that it was a fake had he not seen the first place ribbon affixed to it.

  He followed the street around that giant vegetable, and found the hotel next to the town hall.

  Suitcase in hand, he entered the hotel lobby and was greeted by an older man that reminded him of his own grandfather, but only for an instant. When the man flashed a soft smile that seemed to work his wrinkles into folds of doughy sincerity, he was at once relieved. His grandfather’s smile was articulate and cold. The man before him, however, was soft and gentle, perhaps even jolly like the ringleader of the North Pole. If he’d had a great white beard, Mike would have wondered if there were small elves working on the janitorial staff.

  "Hi, welcome to Harvest Lodge."

  "Hi Frank." Mike said after glancing at the man's nametag, "Any rooms available?"

  "Sure, I have a few open now that the Festival of Pumpkins has ended."

  Mike raised his eyebrow and regarded Frank with a silent question.

  "It's a festival of fun we do once a year. There are games, rides, and best of all—a contest to see who has the largest pumpkin."

  "I'm impressed with the winner out there."

  "That one only took first place. You should see the grand prize winner."

  "There's one even bigger?"

  "Oh yeah, much bigger."

  The old man typed some information into the computer and printed out a magnetic key. With a soft buzz, the card exited a small printer and fell into a catch bin. Mike fished his wallet from his jeans and said, "Awesome, I'll have to check it out before I leave tomorrow."

  Frank's smile grew even bigger when Mike suggested interest in the winning vegetable. He placed the keycard on the counter and said, "Please do, I'm very proud of it."

  "You’re the winner?”

  "Indeed! Come by in the morning and I'll give you a tour of the Harvest Lodge’s prize winning pumpkin."

  "Sounds good." Mike said, "How much do I owe you?"

  "No, it'll be fine. Just pay tomorrow. You're room number is 10-14."

  "Great, thank you."

  "Have a good night."

  "You too." Mike said, and then grabbed the key from the counter.

  Unlike the outside of the building, the inside of his room was decorated with cream paint and dull green trimming. A pumpkin-spice aroma sweetened the air from a small oil warmer plugged into the wall.

  As he put his bags upon the bed, he licked his lips. His mouth was dry and sticky as if he had been walking the desert for days without hydration. He’d finished the water he brought with him just before exiting the highway, but the desert heat must have sapped him dry more than he realized.

  Mike searched the bathroom for a plastic cup. In his experience, hotels generally kept them near the sink, but all he found was a bottle of water. Leaning down, he carefully read the label looking for any sign that he would have to pay for it. At the last hotel, he had mistaken it for a complimentary drink, and they ended up charging him ten dollars for it. Fortunately, around the neck of the bottle there was a small note that said the water was in fact free for hotel guests.

  He cracked it open and downed the entire contents without stopping to breathe. When he finished, he was surprised it tasted as sweet as a grape but also had a bitter hint of sour lemons. He checked the label for any additives, but it was nothing more than purified water.

  After shrugging and tossing the bottle into the trash, he walked into the main part of the room. He looked through the giant window and admired the view. It
opened to a massive field for cultivation, which was probably used for growing pumpkins. The enrapturing sight was seen through a beautiful pair of neatly trimmed jacaranda trees.

  While he looked out into the dark night, he started to feel faint. His head felt as though it were light enough to float away, but his body felt heavier than the pumpkin parked outside.

  Mike took a step back, and then forward. He rocked and moved as though he was trying to counter the effects of a violent earthquake. He put his hands to his icy face and dropped to his knees. As a purple and white haze slowly closed his vision to a pinpoint, he looked around frantically to make sure that when his body finally gave out he wouldn't fall on anything.

  Terror gripped him as he suddenly realized that if he was indeed sick and in need of medical attention, no one would know that he had fallen ill. Anxiety built within him, making the catastrophe within his body tenfold worse.

  He slowly crawled towards the door. His feet felt like weights while his arms like noodles. He fought hard to keep his body from collapsing into the ground; each inch towards the door was more difficult than the first.

  Finally, his arms wobbled, wavered, and then gave out. His face hit hard into the firm carpet, and he lost focus. For a while, he worried deeply that he would die. He couldn’t move a muscle other than his eyes, and his breathing became shallow and tight. Soon, his eyelids fluttered and he fell into a deep dark sleep.

  Mike dreamed that he was standing in the middle of Pumpkin Town. He could feel danger approaching as if at any moment a nuclear explosion was going to wipe the earth clean of the town’s existence.

  He looked around at the peaceful community, and as he did so, strange voices whispered into his ears. They were so soft that he couldn’t understand what they were saying, but they had an eerie terrifying urgency to them.

  Without warning, the air began to heat up. He watched the street steam, and then within moments it became a sea of molten asphalt. He watched paint peel from the walls of the buildings, signs burn out, and the dirt turn black and hard.

  The sting of the heat made his eye water, and when he wiped the blur from them he saw hundreds of people watching him. They were ethereal, ghostly figures that didn’t seem the least bit interested in what was happening to the town. They were completely entranced by him, and as he began to walk, their eyes followed him.

  He turned his head to look away from them, and a woman appeared in his path. She was beautiful, and had a smile that made him forget the terrifying hell being forged around him.

  She put her hand up as if to wave at him, but did not move it. Inquisitively, he put his up as well, but then she latched onto him. He tried to wrench free from her grip, but she was too powerful. Soon, he began to feel his blood boil hotter than the sea of fire in the streets, and his veins swelled as if they were going to burst at any moment. He tried to scream, but nothing more than a dry whimper escaped his mouth.

  The woman’s eye sockets emptied, leaving dark cavernous voids. Her skin mottled, and began to peel away as though time were ransacking a dead body. A sick rotten stench made him nauseous.

  Fear gripped him. He no longer wanted to see the grotesque image of her, so he closed his eyes, and soon everything fell silent. When he reopened them, he was back in the cool pumpkin-scented hotel room.

  He only laid there for a moment before crawling upright. He glanced at the small clock next to the bed and it was just after midnight. He’d been out for a few hours.

  Mike rubbed his eyes and then his temples. His thoughts still felt slightly ambiguous, and his mouth was dryer than the Mojave Desert. He stood, half expecting to pass out again and fall victim to another nightmare. Instead, he felt fine, and made his way into the bathroom.

  After turning the faucet on, he let the clear liquid pool in his cupped hands. He splashed the cold water into his face and smiled at the relief it gave him. Some of it made its way into his mouth, and he winced at its sweet flavor. Even though it tasted exactly like the bottle of water from earlier that night, he drank some of it.

  As he left the bathroom, his stomach growled fierce and otherworldly. It was then that he noticed his body trembled with hunger. Though it was late, he hoped he could find a 24-hour restaurant. After grabbing his keycard and wallet, he left the room in search of food.

  While standing outside the door, he glanced at the diner he’d seen earlier while driving through, and he was happy to see a sign offering around-the-clock service.

  He walked across the parking lot, across a small side street, and then entered the restaurant through a heavy glass door. Inside, several plastic pumpkins garnished the tables. Wreathes made from gold and cherry autumn leaves hung from hooks on different walls. An older waitress passed him holding a pot of coffee and a tray of salads.

  She said, "Go ahead and sit anywhere you like, young man."

  The diner was vacant except for a young woman sitting by herself. She couldn't have been more than twenty-seven, closer to his age than anyone else he'd seen thus far. She also looked familiar, but he couldn’t place her face.

  As he walked by her, he noticed that she looked strangely agitated. It wasn't as if she was angry, but almost as though she was scared or hiding something. When he made eye contact with her, she shied away and looked deeply into her black coffee as a soothsayer would look into her magical tealeaves.

  He wasn't sure why she was so shy. Perhaps he still looked like a wreck after what happened in the hotel, or maybe she was not confident of her looks, which would surprise him. She was neither ugly, nor pretty, but a beautiful kind of plain that he found alluring. The only other thing it could be was something complex in her past—probably abuse—that made her that way.

  When he arrived at his seat, he picked up the menu and looked it over. Occasionally he glanced at the woman, curious of her.

  After a few minutes, the older waitress arrived with a pad of paper, "I’m Rudie, I’ll be your waitress tonight. Can I start you off with something to drink?"

  "Just some water, thanks."

  "Do you know what you want, or do you need a couple minutes?"

  "Oh," He said and looked back to the menu, "I'll have the Super Eggs, with a side of toast."

  "Bacon or sausage."

  "Bacon, please."

  "Great, I'll be back with your water."

  As he put the menu back on the end of the table, he glanced at the young woman. She was playing with her blond hair and avoiding eye contact with the waitress as she brought his water.

  He looked up at Rudie and smiled. When he again peeked at the woman, she had disappeared. He looked through the window and out into the parking lot, but didn’t see where she’d gone. It was as though she had just vanished.

  After he finished dinner, Mike thought about heading back to the hotel to get some sleep, but realized he would need a supply of water for his drive the next day.

  He left the diner and when he arrived at the sidewalk he surveyed the small town. He knew that he’d seen a gas station as he drove in, but it was only a quick glance. After a moment, he finally spotted the orange and white sign that said Pump-kin Town Gas. He chuckled at the clever name and walked east down the street.

  When he opened the door and walked through, a small tone rang from speakers mounted in the corners. The place smelled cold and had a hint of hospital grade solvents. Like most gas stations, it had rows of snacks, a hotdog warmer, several small knick-knacks on the counter, and three walls of coolers.

  He walked to the back and stopped at a refrigerator that had “water” written above the door. Inside, he saw several containers of the clear liquid ranging from sixteen ounces to thirty-two. All of them were the town’s own brand.

  “How are ya, sir?”

  Mike looked around, and saw an older man standing at the cash wrap. His eyes were soft, and his smile was even more comforting. In fact, he looked like he could be the hotel owner’s brother.

  “I’m fine,” Mike said as he pointed at the water, “
Is this the only brand you have.”

  “Sure is, why do you ask?”

  “Well, I had this stuff back in the hotel and it tasted kind of funny.”

  “Sorry son, we like to stock the town’s water before anything else.”

  “Why is that?”

  “We rarely get tourists, and we could use all the money we can get our hands on. Over the last week, we sold almost all our stock on account we had the Pumpkin Fest and all.”

  “That makes sense. I was just hoping for something I’m used to.”

  “Sorry for the inconvenience.”

  “It’s fine, this’ll do.”

  Mike grabbed two bottles and walked to the counter. He took his wallet out and said, “I’m thinking about staying another day. Is there anything interesting to do around here?”

  “Of course! You’ll want to see the grand prize winner of last week’s contest.” The man said as he rang up the water, “There are also a few gift shops and a historical museum tour.”

  “Hmm, it doesn’t sound like you have much to do around here.”

  The guy instantly looked fidgety and said, “Oh hell, what do I know? Take the day and I’m sure you’ll find some interesting things ‘round town.”

  “Sure, maybe I’ll do that.”

  Mike grabbed the bag from the counter and turned towards the door, “Have a good night.”

  “You too now!”

  Mike still had plenty of energy from the meal he’d eaten, so he decided to take a walk. If anything, he could at least get a feel for what he might do if he decided to stay in town the following day.

  From the mart, he crossed the street and followed the water-glistened sidewalk towards the entrance of the town. He passed the closed shops he saw earlier, and finally came to a few streets that led into a small neighborhood.

  In his dream, the town looked as it did now, but with the dangers of fire and brimstone of hell itself. Though everything was quiet, he still half-expected the world to shake and erupt into a cataclysmic apocalypse.