Bright Lights & Glass Houses

By Ashton Raze

“Reality made this factual. The monsters weren’t the undead, the wolfmen or the creeping horrors. The monsters were living; they were alive. They lived among the population, waiting, watching and then, when they were content to watch no longer... they snapped.”

A shot is fired. Passengers on the Underground get too close for comfort. A stoic grandmother reaches out to her estranged granddaughter through her first computer. A familiar drive home takes an unfamiliar turn – literally. A Hollywood effects artist discovers that even heroes have a dark side.

Twenty two tales of horror and mystery unearth dark secrets and terrible truths. From serial killers to short-order cooks, disillusioned office workers to child prodigies, the members of this braying human menagerie are on a collision course with the end times – and one another. Ashton Raze’s debut short story collection weaves a series of narratives into a creepy, tangled, darkly comic whole.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Ashton Raze
• Release date: May 6, 2012
• ISBN: 9781476246864

Ashton Raze

Hello. I am an author, journalist and video game developer from the South West of England. I've written for The Telegraph, GameSpot, Beefjack and others. Bright Lights & Glass Houses is my debut release. I specialize in horror, crime, horrific crime, criminal horror and also some things that don't fit a genre, such as stories about violins. I also develop adventure games, and my dream is to one day pass through Nashville on my way to somewhere else. I write video games as one part of Owl Cave. Our games Richard & Alice, Sepulchre, The Charnel House Trilogy and Tourist are available now, with an unannounced game being revealed in early 2016.

Book preview

Bright Lights & Glass Houses

By Ashton Raze

Published by Ashton Raze

Smashwords Edition

Copyright 2012 Ashton Raze

Smashwords Edition, License Notes

This ebook is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. This ebook may not be re-sold or given away to other people. If you would like to share this book with another person, please purchase an additional copy for each recipient. If you're reading this book and did not purchase it, or it was not purchased for your use only, then please return to Smashwords.com and purchase your own copy. Thank you for respecting the hard work of this author.

Table of Contents

Thanks & Dedication

I - Single Bullet Theory

II - The Earth Crawled

III - Over Easy

IV - Dustland

V - The Last Voice You'll Ever Hear

VI - Bad Company

VII - The Optometrist

VIII - Column Inches

IX - Blind Right

X - Kissing Games

XI - This Message Has No Subject

XII - The Albatross Corridor

XIII - Home Video

XIV - Fusion

XV - Acronyms

XVI - So Long, Good Luck & Thanks For All The Memories

XVII - The Signal Master

XVIII - Bright Lights & Glass Houses

XIX - A Bitter End

XX - Lonely & Sympathetic

XXI - Final Broadcast

XXII - XX (13th Variation)

About the Author

Special thanks:

Emily Richardson, Tom Hoggins, Molly Carroll

Tiarny McNulty, Richard Warner, Lewis Denby

&

My parents.

For Brian & Nora

I - Single Bullet Theory

Have you ever seen a gun before? the boy asked.

The girl nodded. Of course she had. Not everyone had led such a sheltered life as the boy.

You're thinking I've led a sheltered life, the boy said. And you'd be right.

The girl smiled. The boy had a way of doing this.

I'm not stupid, the boy went on. I knew the answer was yes. But you've never seen a gun like this.

He held it out and the girl took it. Is it loaded?

That's the thing, the boy said. Who knows?

You obviously do, the girl replied.

No, seriously, just listen, the boy said. These are strange and wonderful times, right? The world's changing. Everything's changing.

The girl nodded. He was right. Get to the point, then.

The boy was unfazed. This gun isn't anything special, actually, he said, taking it back. It's the bullet which is special.

I thought you said you didn't know if it was loaded, the girl retorted.

I don't. Just listen! Seriously. The gun houses a magic bullet. You can't see it, or hear it, and you don't know where the bullet will hit. But believe me, it'll hit somewhere. It could shoot a star out the sky, or it could kill the President. Who knows?

You're either delusional, or this is the worst pick-up line ever, the girl said.

The boy rolled his eyes. Don't believe me? Go on, fire it.

He handed the gun back to the girl, and she took it. She looked him in the eye, then pointed it at him. She'd been expecting a reaction, fear perhaps, but got none. He merely smiled.

Not at me, that's not as fun then. Shoot it into the sky, he said.

The girl pointed the gun heavenwards. Her finger rested on the trigger.

Okay, ready? she asked.

Yes. Fire, the boy said.

The girl wavered for a moment, then her index finger tensed. She squeezed, bracing herself like she'd been taught.

The hammer clicked. Silence.

Together, the boy and the girl watched the invisible, magic bullet sail in a glorious arc towards the sun. Then it was gone.

Who knows what we just killed? the boy said, and the girl laughed and kissed him.

II - The Earth Crawled

It began in Greece.

More specifically, it began on the island of Crete. Prison of Icarus, lair of the Minotaur, birthplace of Zeus. Popular holiday destination for droves of sex-starved, sun-bleached tourists. Mythology drenched in booze and bodily fluids. An unlikely destination for me, perhaps, but such misguidance can be attributed to the folly of youth and the persuasive abilities of a pretty girl.

Jules wasn't really my type. I think that's why, during University, we went so well together. There are certain expectations which one such as me has to live up to, and being in a relationship with a grant-funded state school graduate was far from one of them. I won't lie; Jules' working-class background and, as my friends said, 'common' upbringing was part of the attraction. She was also incredibly outgoing, extroverted and bubbly. I was--and still am--insular, sullen and problematic. We were not a typical match. I liked this. My inner rebel liked this. My friends found it a constant source of amusement. They accepted her, though. They had no choice with Jules. She wasn't the type to apologize for her lack of airs and graces. You liked it, or, no, well, you just liked it. She was that kind of person. And I liked her, I did. A lot.

That's why, a month after my Oxford graduation, I found myself amongst the throngs of sweaty twenty-somethings clamoring for a pint at a Heraklion bar. Jules was off somewhere, dancing. I was tasked with bringing the drinks over. It wasn't an easy task. We'd met up with a former schoolfriend of mine who I hadn't seen for a few years due to his Cambridge attendance. His name was Jim and he was here on holiday with a crowd of braying, sandy-haired lads. His entourage, although he called them his friends. Being the stubborn, frustrating guy I was, I'd decided to try and retrieve drinks for the entire group. Navigating through a crowd of holiday makers with eight beverages is no easy task. It was no surprise, really, when I made that fateful collision that changed my life forever.

When people talk about first meeting the love of their life, they usually tell you a heart-warming, romantic story. Me, I chucked beer down my beloved's top. Not just one beer, either. Four. Four pints, straight down the front of her stunning black dress. The other four tumbled backwards onto me.

I looked up at the stranger. She stared back. The world fell silent.

I am so, so, sorry, I muttered. Shit.

She was stunning. It isn't a cliche to say she took my breath away, and only in part because of the icy beer pooling at my waistband. Beautiful. Dark hair with a tinge of red. Pale skin. Eyes you could fall into. A smile that could melt your heart. And she was smiling, the tip of her tongue poking out the left side of her mouth. Normally, that kind of thing would annoy me. Here, it was endearing, and relieving. Despite the alcohol shower, she seemed amused.

She thrust out her hand, dripping with beer, shimmering in the lights from the club. Hi, she said. I'm Katie.

Did you have fun? Jules asked. She smiled at me lazily, drunkenly. She lay sprawled across our hotel bed, naked save for her bra which hung off one shoulder. She was tracing concentric circles on her stomach.

Yeah, it was good, I told her, undoing my trousers. Was good to see Jim again.

Did I look nice tonight? Jules asked. I was taken aback. It wasn't like her to seek reassurance.

You looked great, I told her. I climbed onto the bed beside her and she rested her head on my shoulder.

Edward, do you wanna fuck? she asked.

I frowned. It's late, and you're drunk. We have that tour tomorrow, don't we?

That's Tuesday, she mumbled, leaning against my neck. Her breath was warm. She began sliding my t-shirt up, her mouth moving to my chest, kissing, biting gently. She moved upwards, our lips touching. I kissed her. I thought of Katie. Of her lips, her skin, her smile. Jules' hand toyed with me. I reached down and took it.

I don't like this when you're drunk, I told her. She pouted at me.

You're such a square.

I raised an eyebrow. Gentleman, maybe.

Jules snorted with laughter. Yeah, whatever.

She guided my hand down between her legs. Jules, come on, I said. I was finding it hard to resist.

We can do anything, Edward, Jules slurred.

Then let's go to sleep, I said. I saw the hurt in her eyes. I relented. I entered Jules. I thought of Katie.

The next day passed by in a blur of intimacy. We stayed in the hotel room almost until late, when we took a walk and joined the other guests for our evening meal. Thankfully, I'd been able to persuade Jules to choose a slightly more remote hotel, so that between hectic party times we would be able to retreat somewhat. To say it wasn't crowded would be a lie, but the majority of tourists here were older than us, and less prone to antics.

There was a part of me which hoped I'd never see Katie again. That she'd be staying on a different part of the island, that ours was a chance meeting, never to be repeated. I hoped I could forget her, that she'd drift out of my life just as quickly as she'd drifted in.

That part soon evaporated at dinner. As Jules and I headed to our table, plates in hand, I saw her sitting across the room, her mouth open in silent mirth. She was not alone. Across from her sat a portly lad of ruddy skin and a Hollywood stare. Propped upon his forehead was a pair of Aviators. He roared with laughter at something Katie said. Reached across the table, squeezed her hand. I felt a stab of jealousy.

Uh, Edward? Jules asked. You coming?

I saw her looking across at the table, at Katie and the unknown boy. She opened her mouth to say something, then closed it again.

The night before, she had not met Katie. An hour after disappearing for drinks, I'd returned to my group with a story of roughnecked Greeks and plenty of shoulder-barging. Katie and I had spent an hour together. One single, solitary hour. Sitting outside, beer drying on our clothes, smoking and talking. We knew nothing about one another even after that time. There had been chemistry, no doubt about it. Harmless, no-contact chemistry. And that was all it should have been. But here she was, again, sitting nearby. Calling my name.

Edward! she called again.

Jules nudged me. You know that girl?

Yeah, I said, offering no further explanation. Come on, let's go over. You two will get on.

So the boy's name was Chuck, and he was a prick. I'd be lying if I said I hadn't decided this before we even reached the table, but it was reassuring to discover I was right. Typical brash, obnoxious American in his early twenties. Also; Katie's boyfriend. That should have put a lid on it. It didn't, of course. Not by a long shot. Katie was American too. Of course, I knew that. It made explaining things to Jules hard, though.

So how do you two know each other, then? she asked, as our main course arrived.

Foolishly, I hadn't thought to prepare a story should this situation arise. Katie winked at me, and to this day I'm sure Jules saw and said nothing.

Old friend of the family, Katie said. We used to go to school together back when Eddie lived in the US, as a kid.

I was glad I'd told her about that.

Oh really? Jules said. He's never mentioned you. Huh. Should probably warn you, he hates being called Eddie!

She beamed at me and tussled my hair. I sat there, dazed.

Ah, I've always gotten away with it, Katie quipped back. I stole a glance at Chuck. He'd been possessive from the moment we'd turned up, moving his chair closer to Katie's, squeezing her hand that bit too tight. Now he looked positively apoplectic. I almost felt sorry for him. Looking back, now, I'm not proud of my behavior, or of Katie's. But we had that thrill thing going on, that electric, secret chemistry between us. It was a game to us back then, to all of us. We were kids. Heartbreak was in our nature, dramatics our drug. We're a vile, vacuous lot when you think about it. Katie was anything but, I hasten to add. She was just caught up in the moment. Simply being my company seemed to lift her spirits, and the same was true for me.

We talked, then, all four of us, and the mood eventually lightened somewhat. Truth weaved with lies, the effortless way in which Katie spun anecdotes about our childhood had me almost believing it at points. I kept silent at those times, lying never being my strong point. Chuck and Katie's situation amusingly mirrored that of mine and Jules'. He was rich, she was from a poor background. They'd met at University (or college, as they called it). She'd neglected to mention Chuck at all the night before. I couldn't complain. I hadn't mentioned Jules either.

I had no idea what she saw in him. Of course I didn't. I'd already decided Katie was meant for me, even if I wasn't totally aware of it by then. Chuck seemed oafish, boorish and overly opinionated. He spoke loudly of sports and politics, of his admiration of Bush and his dislike of Clinton. He talked, and talked, about the Republicans and the MLB and the NFL, he asked asinine questions about soccer and Blair.

Katie, Jules and I talked too. Handily, Katie thought to throw in the caveat that we'd lost touch for some years, which sidestepped the majority of pitfalls our deception could have caused. Throughout our discourse, Jules' hand danced across my arm, brushing my shoulder, reaching onto my plate to swipe bits of my food. Obvious signs of defensiveness and possession, I realized much later.

The truth is, I can remember almost nothing of that night. The wine was flowing freely, and perhaps that was a factor, but when I think back, all I can picture is Katie. From the first time I laid eyes on her, right up until the very moment I write this now, she was in my head. She filled my thoughts, intoxicating and beautiful. I'd spent no more than three hours with her in total, but she'd already become the most important thing in my life. From that night on, this never changed.

The change one undergoes when one first falls in love--for sure enough, there's no doubt that I had done so--has been well documented in all manner of fact and fiction. To tread that old, self-indulgent ground would do a disservice to my feelings for her. It was quite extraordinary. A powerful, almost terrifying force, obsessive and devouring. To feel love, at least at first, isn't a nice feeling. It's like a fever or a withdrawal, an injection of nerves and nervousness, a psychotropic, mind-altering reaction kicking off in your brain. Distance hurts, closeness hurts. Paranoia rises and doubt clouds. I never understood it before Katie. Since that day, I've never forgotten it. And I wonder, sometimes, has anyone ever felt that way about me without my knowledge? Have they suffered, silently, in love with me until it eats them from the inside out, knowing I was unobtainable?

Lying, unspeaking in the dark, the sounds of the Greek nightlife fading outside our window. There had been no sex, no intimacy. Just myself and Jules, lying side by side, staring at the ceiling, both lost in our own thoughts.

An hour passed, and then a bit more. Eventually Jules spoke.

They were very nice, she said.

I tried to clear images from my mind. Images of Katie lying in bed, Chuck looming over her, sweat dripping from his fatty chest, grunting as she parted her legs for him. Perhaps, on her lips, a grimace, a slight 'o' of distaste. A sense of resignation. I felt sick.

Chuck seems a bit much, I said.

Yeah, maybe, Jules replied. You really have never mentioned Katie.

We lost touch a long time ago.

It was funny, really, Jules said, that she managed to recognize you across the restaurant. Small world, isn't it? And you didn't seem surprised to see each other at all. Huh.

I sighed. I saw her last night, I told her. Bumped into her near the bar. Thought I mentioned that.

Out of the corner of my eye, I could see Jules looking at me. I didn't turn.

You didn't grow up with her at all, did you? she asked.

No.

I began to say more, to come up with an excuse for the lie, but Jules had turned over onto her side, and very soon after I could hear the gentle, rhythmic sound of her breathing.

I checked my watch. Almost 2 am. I had no idea if the hotel gym would still be open this late, or if they locked it up, but I needed a walk. As luck would have it, the place was open and seemingly unstaffed. I walked down the dimly-lit corridor, past the windows overlooking the pool. Underwater spotlights cast rippling shadows across cerulean tile. I saw a shape in the water, beneath the surface. I wasn't alone. I almost decided to pass by the pool altogether, but something stopped me. Perhaps it was the atmosphere, the lonely, dreamlike state of a swimming pool at night. Or perhaps it was hope. Either way, I stepped inside. I did not make my presence known at first. I kept to the shadows, and stood watching the figure in the pool in silence. Her majestic, graceful strokes carried her deftly through the water, an aquatic ballerina. Her every movement struck me with its beauty. There was no mistaking her.

Eventually, she broke the surface, the water parting to make way for this goddess. She looked directly at me, and I stepped forward.

Hello, Katie, I said.

She did not seem alarmed by my presence, almost as if she'd been expecting it.

Edward, she said, more a confirmation than a greeting.

Didn't mean to disturb you. Don't stop on my account.

Not at all, she said. I was just getting out.

Katie kicked her way over to the steps and emerged from the water. I tried to stop myself from staring, but I could not. Her skin, so pale in the bluish light, was like porcelain. Her eyes, red from chlorine, wide and vulnerable. And her body, lithe and perfect, covered only by her bathing suit. She saw me looking and smiled.

Hand me that towel, will you? she said, pointing to a chair. Silently, I reached for it and passed it to her. She dried her face, her hair, approached me. She was so close I could touch her. Holding the towel in front of her, she spoke.

Jules not around, then?

There was a smile in her eyes, the promise of mystery.

Chuck not about, then?

Katie shook her head.

There was static between us. Everything ever went through my mind. My heart was beating far too fast. I reached out, took the towel from her, and tossed it back onto the chair. She stepped towards me before I could even guide her. My hands touched her back, her hands touched my arms. She looked up at me, our lips brushed together, we kissed. She tasted of chlorine and cinnamon, bitter sweet and beautiful. We kissed, more, passionately, hungrily, like this was what we were always meant to do. She reached down, pulled my shirt up. My hands found the neckline of her bathing suit and slid it down over her shoulders, down to her waist. She let it fall, stepping out of it, stumbling against me and laughing quietly as it caught on her foot. I held her, one hand brushing against the soft skin of her left breast. Then she was upright, against me, on me, pushing me down. We made love there, then, on the rough hard tiles of the pool room floor. We fit like we were made together, each of our movements mirroring the other's, every breath, every thrust a perfect unity. Time lost all meaning. I was lost in her, and she in me.

When we were finished, she stood up, a shy look passing across her face. I followed her, grabbing up the towel so she could cover her nakedness.

Edward, I'm sorry, she whispered. I don't know... I don't know what...

I shook my head, put my finger to her lips, and drew her close into another kiss. We could deal with the complications in the morning. I just wanted to hold her close, in the shimmering darkness, as our hearts beat the rhythm of war drums.

Tuesday morning guilt turned into a frantic scramble to reach the tour bus, Jules and I too busy to even look at each other. Finally prepared and dressed, we thundered down the hotel staircase and outside, bundling into the tour bus. The bus was almost full, heaving with elderly vacationers.

Eddie, Jules, over here! I heard Katie call out. She was sat at the back of the bus with Chuck.

We saved y'all some seats, Chuck said as we made our way down the aisle, apologizing to overweight old ladies whose arms caught our thighs. Something told me the reservations hadn't been Chuck's idea.

Jules quickly took the seat next to Katie, and I was forced to squeeze past her to get to my window seat. As the bus engine kicked into life, metalwork rattling dangerously, the sinking feeling of guilt kicked in. I thought back to the night before.

I won't lie. It wasn't the first time I'd cheated on Jules. There had been someone else, during my final year of University, a girl I'd met while visiting a friend in Newcastle. It hadn't been much, but it had been something. This was different, though. Jules knew the person in question. She was sitting right next to her, talking to her. The risk was far greater.

I didn't know where it was going, really. I was in love with Katie. I wanted to be with her. So why was I already planning ways to keep this thing a secret? I needed to talk to her, to find out where I stood. It suddenly felt like the most important thing in the world. Instead, I listened in while Jules and Katie talked about life, distance, countries. Chuck tried to join in, occasionally. Neither of them seemed interested. I simply kept quiet and surveyed the Greek countryside.

The bus pulled into the designated car park and I got my first glimpse of Knossos. Even in its state of disrepair, the palace took my breath away. While the rest of my traveling companions chattered and laughed, I traipsed out of the vehicle in a daze. Certain places have an effect on me. Important, powerful places, commanding presences that cloud my senses. Knossos was one such place. The history here, the beauty. The sense that it was the epicenter of Crete. Thinking of the myth, the tale, Theseus creeping through darkened corridors, the terrible Minotaur's hot, stinking breath teasing the back of his neck. A dank, musky animal smell, one of death and raw power.

We followed the tour guide. He talked. I dreamed. The palace, the architecture, the labyrinth. I felt a hand brush mine. Jules' or Katie's, I wasn't sure. I took it. I closed my eyes. We walked, listened. I heard Katie speaking, Jules, Chuck, tourists, strangers and friends. The stone spoke out to me. I sensed it, something, beneath the earth. Something ancient, unspoken.

"Everything is about to change," I heard it whisper. I felt a pain in my head, in my chest. The palace of Knossos melted away, stone crumbling to dust, and I saw. Burning, scorched sky. A shadow passing across the sun. I looked up, stared at the broiling flame above my head. This crucible in which sat our world, expectantly waiting, pregnant with a fury so terrible that I knew, then, we were on the brink. I felt the ground give way and I was falling, the abyss opening up to swallow me whole. I stared down as I fell, down upon the wretched earth. And with blinking albino eyes, the earth stared back. With a ravenous snarl and a hungry smile, the earth crawled up to meet me.

Pass out often then, do you?

We were sat on a hill, gazing over Knossos, a picnic spread at our feet. My head still hurt from the blow I'd taken, collapsing to the floor like that.

It was a warm day, but a chill had crept into my bones. Nothing felt right. Only Katie's smile, that curious look with the tip of her tongue poking from the corner of her mouth, could do anything to make me feel human again.

I've never known you to pass out. It's not common, is it Eddie? Jules said. I hated her calling me that. I'd also noticed that she'd taken to answering whenever Katie addressed me.

No, it is not, I said moodily. I could not get those eyes out of my head. And so I looked at Katie's instead. Blue, almost green, wide and twinkling. I saw the world in those eyes. I smiled at her.

Did Eddie tell you he's something of a writer? Jules asked. It was something she knew I liked to keep to myself.

Oh really? Chuck piped up. Anything I might have read?

This was exactly why. It 's impossible to talk about writing without having to defend the fact you're unpublished. It was little more than a pipe dream for me. I knew my narrative voice was far too textbook, too dry for fiction. Nevertheless, Jules spoke the truth, I was working on a novel. Looking back at it now, it was little more than folly. At the time, though, I held onto the work with a fierce pride, occasionally tapping out a paragraph or two when feeling particularly brooding. I was around thirty thousand words in by then.

I explained that I was just starting out, that it was something I was doing for myself, that I was under no illusion that I'd ever get published. A lie, of course. Back then I dreamed of it every time I sat at the keyboard.

They quizzed me on genre, subject matter, plans. I explained as best I could.

Eddie says I'm his muse, Jules said pointedly. Can't write without me in the house, can you?

It was true. I