Strange Tales, Dark Thoughts volume II

By Adrian Scott

A collection of short stories in the horror genre: some weird, some strange, some downright unbelievable, but all designed to make the reader think...and think again, then leave the bedside light burning through the night.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Adrian Scott
• Release date: Nov 9, 2011
• ISBN: 9781465720450

Adrian Scott

I have been writing short stories since 9 years old, changed to writing novels 4 years ago. in that time, I've written 69, now working on my 70th; thirty-one of which have been published in the US by Renaissance ebooks and Publishing by Rebecca J Vickery. I am also publishing on Smashwords. Society of Vampires volume 1, published by Rebecca J Vickery, Publishers, US; has also been forwarded by Rebecca to Francis Ford Coppola for consideration as a movie. So it's all go at the moment. I have three daughters, all of whom I regularly see. My wife of 31 years, Penny, passed away on March 17, 2011. I live in a retirement village in Caboolture Queensland with my dog, Scamp. He is my main critic and friend.

Book preview

Strange Tales, Dark Thoughts

Volume II

by Adrian Scott

Smashwords Edition

Copyright © 2011 by Ian T. Foster, M.A.

Smashwords Edition License Notes

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First Publication Rights Only

Ian T Foster, M.A;

Unit 73/130-132 King Street

Caboolture Queensland 4510

Phone: [phone]

Email: [e-mail]

http://www.adrianscott.info

© Cover Design: Laura Shinn

Table of Contents

ELECTRIC MAN

Bashri Khan

A Face in the Crowd

It Jest Ain’t Fair Ta Tell

ELECTRIC MAN

by Adrian Scott

I watched as he sat on the steel table several feet from me, and fastened the thick leather straps around both his ankles. Awkwardly, he lay back, reached across his own body, and clamped a third, longer, strap around his breast, then a shorter around his left wrist. With the exception of his right hand, he was now immobile.

The authorities had warned him against further experimentation; they had also warned me, in no uncertain manner, against assisting him. But he would have none of it. His experiments must proceed, and he would break any law in order to see that task accomplished.

He laid his head back on the padded headrest at such an angle that he could see the large brass lever just above him, and reached his right arm back and upwards, groping with difficulty for a few moments until his palm came in contact with the cold metal touch of it.

Ready, Charles? he glanced across at me, standing just to his right. I was removed from him by several feet for the sake of safety, but in a position to reach the panel on the face of the huge generator should it become necessary.

I nodded. Ah, how I wished, at that moment, that I could have stayed his hand, caused him to reconsider his actions. But I knew I could not. He had made up his mind, and nothing – no power on this earth – would stop him.

His knuckles whitened as his grip on the large lever tightened. He closed his eyes, breathed deeply for a moment or two, then his lips drew into a thin, determined line, and he threw the lever.

A loud, sputtering roar filled the huge room as the generator sent its charge down the thick cable and into his body. His entire form began to buck and strain at the leather straps; his right arm, still free, leapt and kicked until, with a loud crack, the radius and ulna snapped, and the arm dropped uselessly at his side. But the shoulder muscle still reacted to the violence assaulting his body.

With a supreme effort, he managed to turn his head. His eyes, wide and staring, met mine, and he tried to speak. But his mouth was drawn taut in a rictus resembling death.

I hesitated but a moment, then rushed to the huge bank of dials and switches, and threw the lever into the ‘Off’ position. Immediately, his body relaxed, and he lay there, gasping, groaning, quite unable to help himself.

As I began to unfasten the leather straps that still held him, he managed to warn me not to touch his body: the electric charge it had absorbed was enough to kill an ordinary man, and it was only the months of exposing himself to ever-increasing electrical charges that had enabled him to live through the past few seconds. Touching him would have meant my death.

Slowly, as a man in a trance, he sat up. He stared down at the right arm, the broken ends of bone just visible through the pale skin, while I fetched a pail of water, bandages, and plaster.

But I could not help him. He had to set the arm without assistance, a task I could not have believed possible.

He took hold of the arm at the wrist, and proceeded to pull the bones back into position. He twisted first one way, then the other, and finally we heard a slight ‘snap’, and a grinding sound as the broken ends met.

Picking up the bandage, he dropped it into the pail, allowed it to soak, and began to wrap one end about the forearm. Then, suddenly, he stopped.

What is wrong? said I; are the bones not met?

No, he replied hesitantly, a tone of wonder in his voice; look!

And he held out the arm before him, turned it one way, then the other; he moved each finger separately, then bunched them into a fist, and released them again.

The bones! The bones! They…they have fused together!

He again turned the right arm, again made a fist, then reached down and lifted the pail with ease.

The electric charge to which I subjected myself… he pondered; …it must have…fused the broken ends. Dear God! I have become my own Maker!

At his words, a vague sense of disquiet settled upon my heart. This was not right, ethically or morally. A man should not have the power to repair his own damaged body – that power should lie in the hands of the Almighty.

In subjecting himself to a charge of electricity far greater than any other man could have endured, he had, in effect, crossed the boundary that separated Man from God.

From that moment on, I feared for him.

He lowered his feet to the rubber mat beneath the table and stood upright. At first, his body trembled, as if in the grip of ague; then he found his balance, and slowly stepped forward, careful to keep his feet upon the thick matting he had laid.

I brought the sandals he had cut from spare rubber matting, and he knelt and fastened them to his feet. They were somewhat like ancient Roman sandals, with long straps that wound round the lower legs and tied just behind the calf-muscles. But the soles kept him insulated from the earth.

"Now, what d’you say, Charles, old friend? he grinned; d’you believe me now, now that I have achieved what they all said could not be done?"

I stood wordlessly, as he walked to and fro, testing the strength of his muscles, bending his