Bleeding Ink: A Collection of Dark Tales

By Ink Babes Press

This compilation of paranormal, supernatural, dark and twisted works will have you looking over your shoulder and sleeping with the light on! With over 60 stories from nearly 40 authors and containing short stories and poetry this book offers up something for even the hardest reader to please.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Ink Babes Press
• Release date: Jul 3, 2012
• ISBN: 9780988066205

Ink Babes Press

Editors: Lisa Forget Tammy Crosby Pat Hollett Multi author publication.

Book preview

BLEEDING INK – A Collection of Dark Tales

Published by Ink Babes Press

Edited by Lisa Forget, Patricia Hollett and Tammy Crosby

Copy 2012 Ink Babes Press

The characters and events portrayed in this book are fictitious. Any similarity to real persons, living or dead, is coincidental and not intended by the authors. The works contained within these pages are not to be construed as real.

No part of this publication may be reproduced, distributed, or transmitted in any form or means, stored in a data base or retrieval system, without prior written permission of the publisher.

Copyright © by Ink Babes Press 2012

All rights reserved.

All stories have been printed with permission granted by the authors.

Cover art by Tammy Crosby

ISBN: 978-0-9880662-0-5

We’d like to dedicate this anthology to author Kelley Armstrong. Without her online writing forum, and the wonderful people who belong to it, we Ink Babes would have never met.

Smashwords Edition

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 these authors.

Note: When you see this picture; It signifies a little diddy written by Tammy Crosby. They are splattered throughout the book.

The night sky beckons ~ Weaving darkness into dream ~ Nightmare into Muse

THE BLOODY BREAKDOWN

The Night Belongs to Me—By Krista Walsh

Dead Alien—By Jack Horne

A Vain Bit of Beauty—By Ron Koppelberger

The Three Steps—By Anna Sykora

Crimson And Black—By April Avalon

Blood Harvest—By Patricia Hollett

Buried Secrets—By DewRina Lee

The Beast Howls In Your Veins – By Alejandra Taylor

The Pool Party – By Tammy Crosby

The Evil Eye—By Ron Koppelberger

Watcher—By Corinne Lambert Murphy

You Know Your Writer’s Soul Cannot Resist—By Lisa Forget

Hangman’s Woods—By Colin F. Barnes

Her Familiar—By Anna Sykora

Last Call—By Phil Temples

Black Morsels—By Anna Sykora

The Heart – By Lizzie Shelley

Green With Envy—By Lisa Forget

The Balance—By Frank A. Schury

I Am A—By Sally A. Wolf

Forever My Valentine—By Patricia Hollett

You Are Not My Child—By Madeline Barr

Something Into Nothing—By Rick McQuiston

The Hunger Baby—By Devon Carey

A Cat in Hell’s Chance—By Nathan J.D.L Rowark

For the Love of Grace—By Lisa Forget

Trestlewood Estates—By Ward Webb

The Reasons Why—By Patricia Hollett

Enter 2012—By Tammy Crosby

For a Bit of Good Luck—By Philip Roberts

Friday’s Child is Doomed to Misfortune—By Lisa Forget

Bad Baby—By Nicky Peacock

Demon Retired—By John Grey

Little Miss Sanguine—By HORNS

Spells Worms and Fishing Gloves—By Patricia Hollett

First Meal—By Gary Hewitt

Home Among Gossamer Stars—By A. J. Huffman

Initiation—By Lisa Forget

Control Room Agenda Denied—By David S. Pointer

Rob Pernell’s Tale—By Robert Lee Frazier

Scraps—By Tammy Crosby

Through the Eyes of Him—by Christian Riley

Drizzle (a Haiku)—by Martin Cohen

Retention—By Jason Heitkamper

They Bleed Ink—By Patricia Hollett

Demon In His Soul—By David Perlmutter

Old Man Winter—By Lisa Forget

By Full Moon’s Light—By J.A. Campbell

The Devil’s Daughter—By Sally A. Wolf

Blood and Ecstasy—By Lisa Forget

Deal With The Devil—By Maxwell Zwain

Deliciously Dark Christmas—By Patricia Hollett

A Perfect Match—By Michael C. Keith

Next-of-Kin—By Lisa Forget

Scratch—By Jay Faulkner

Club 27—By Christian A. Larsen

The Lake—By Patricia Hollett

The Cat’s Meow—By Tammy Crosby

Roses for the Devil—By J.A. Campbell

Your Bodies Lie Over the Ocean—By Gareth Wilson

Bloody Bio’s – All about the authors

For you, I’d give everything but the moon, the moon is mine.

The Night Belongs to Me – By Krista Walsh

They call me the Angel of Death, but I am no angel—just Lucy, a failed science experiment. Since the day of my release, I have clung to the night for its protection, its warmth. To avoid the looks of people who can’t understand. The night has taken care of me and I’ve sworn to return the favour.

Tonight I sit upon the highest building in the city, watching the odd red and white car lights flicker like gems through the web of streets. The weather is warm, the stars in full force, mirroring the streetlights below. The moon is full; my strange shadow keeps me company.

A sharp scream echoes from one of the alleyways twenty stories below and I sigh. Lovely weather always brings the loonies out to play. Scanning the dark side street with sharp eyes, I see movement and focus my aim. Then I jump.

As I fall, two great black wings stretch out from between my shoulder blades, a fourteen-foot wingspan of inky feathers that look like satin in the moonlight. The effect of human-animal genome splicing, these wings are my burden and my blessing. I accept what I am.

I blink jet black eyes to refocus on my target. I see him now, running toward the busy main road, a woman’s purse tight in his hands. I have to catch him before he hits the street or he’ll be lost to the real world, away from the shadows that hide me. I beat my wings, twice, three times, the gust of each flap scattering waves of dust beneath me. He’s directly in front of me, almost at his goal.

I let out a shriek and extend talon-sharp nails. He looks over his shoulder but has no time to scream, to react. I drop lower and tear into his neck. The purse falls from his hands and his body slumps.

Without a glance backward, I beat my wings once more to return to my perch.

The night belongs to me.

I do what I can to protect it.

Dead Alien – By Jack Horne

He queued for hours to see the dead alien. Repulsed, he laughed at the exhibit’s appearance (and was thankful it was dead). How could anything that hideous have ever lived?

He could see how some accused the government of using a dummy. He couldn’t believe earthlings were really that ugly . . .

A Vain Bit of Beauty – By Ron Koppelberger

A rush of breath, straightforward and excited by her delight, filled Mary Hulls conscious delirium. She sat before the vanity, primping and consoling herself, the facade she had been borne to. Her chocolate complexion was flawless and her liquid brown eyes were an allure that men fell into with a careless abandon. She inspired the desires of married men and those possessing the courage to approach her with admiration and fearless interest.

She stroked her hair, long silken in web-like tendrils, and applied a bit of saffron oil, her secret hunger touching the corners of her pouting lips. She dabbed a moist cloth to her parched lips and for just a moment, her tongue traced the shape of her mouth. The cloth was a bright crimson and the puddle beneath was a faded pink in hue.

The fortress was her home and she adorned walls with portraits of her in various moments of blushing, kept beauty. She arranged the lace choker and pendant around her slender neck as she hummed an old Broadway tune,

"On to the ghostly show of purpose

And row,

A drama in red,

A drama in red

And so they said

Dear darling

A drama in red."

She sang and hummed in tandem with the ticking of the wooden grandfather clock that stood in salute to her time; her time, she thought, all of it for me.

She splashed some perfume, rose attar in full bloom across her bosom, and stepped toward the heavy maple door, burnished in linseed oil and ornate with wheat blooms. She faltered for an instant, trailing a crimson smear across the floor with her flat-soled alabaster white slippers. The blood had pooled to the center of the room and was sticky in congealed puddles. She adjusted her flowing violet-flowered dress and silk sash as she opened the door to the stage, the dead critic lay cold, and in jealous silence, as she made her way to the audience.

She had a story or two for them, the audience, a tale or two of passion and eternal submission to the tendriled webs of those who had oppressed her, and had rejected her in calloused regard. She had quipped, You have no talent dear! Mary had gone insane for a moment and her private theater had become a charnel house.

She wiped her feet against the small Persian rug near the door as she prepared for the audience.

They would listen, by the gods she could act and they would watch and listen. She stepped through the entranceway and began the performance of her life.

Eyes clouded by tears ~ Seeing a freshly dug grave ~ From the inside out

The Three Steps – By Anna Sykora

ONE.

Open your eyes in the darkness without fear,

for HE is near.

TWO.

Reach for the comfort of his claw,

now he’s your master and your law.

THREE.

Follow him; obey him well,

while he flogs you home to hell.

Crimson And Black – By April Avalon

I’d sell my heart in paperback,

In verses for perverts to read.

The crimson lines look good on black,

Just like the world behind my lids.

For crimson is my poisoned blood

You’d never want to mix with yours,

For black is my denying heart

That’s stained with lies and dead remorse.

Erase my love and drain my mind

Until my memory is void,

I want to be completely blind

To every trifle I enjoyed.

Your gentle touch is like a burn

I play pretend I’m fine with heat.

I’ve reached the point of no return,

I find my peace in self-deceit.

Blood Harvest – By Patricia Hollett

Lily’s tender fingers bled from gashes caused by the harsh texture of the tree bark. Climbing another branch higher, she pulled fresh apples from the limb, the cuts bit deeper into her already fragile fingers. She wiped the blood on the leaves and remembered when she first noticed Adam. Her fingers looked just like this, that time he bandaged them with his gentle hands.

After their initial exchange of shy eye contact, they began to meet secretly. Late at night, Lily would sneak down to the river, where they’d swim under the stars, kissing, laughing, and entangling themselves in each other’s limbs. She wanted to be with Adam forever, and risked the consequences if her father caught her.

Shivering, Lily slunk her way down the tree. Mornings were the worst time of day when the silver-colored mist rolled in and blanketed the trees. She gathered apples on the ground and placed them in the basket. In her mind, the fog was an apparition that came to take people away, ever since she’d seen her younger brother Peter disappear in it and not return. She knew it would steal her too, eventually.

Lily shuddered; terrified it would swallow her up. From dawn until dusk, her family worked in the fields every day until harvest ended. Before, after school, and on weekends, she helped her family, fearing everything about the shrouded fields.

Often times she thought she heard the trees whispering to her, We need more blood. She hated this time of year but everyone had to partake in the harvest, and although she kept telling herself it would be over soon, it brought her little solace. The only time she forgot about her fears was when she was with Adam.

Lily wiped the remaining blood on her pants and headed home before the sun set. That night, the howling wind and sound of branches scraping against the window made sleeping difficult. Her muscles tensed, and her senses heightened.

The sound of muffled voices downstairs reached her ears.

She crept down the stairs and peered through the balusters where she saw a silver urn in the center of the kitchen table, and five men congregated around it. The ill-omened tone in their voices elevated her interest.

It’s time to decide who it will be, announced Old Jonah, the village elder. Jack Thompson put his hand into the urn, pulling out a small white piece of paper.

Lily watched intently, her brown eyes focused on the ceremony. She’d never seen the Choosing before, and her curiosity got the better of her, so she sat there and listened.

Old Jonah unfolded the paper from the table, and read it, Adam Blakestock.

Adam Blakestock. Lily’s hands flew to cover her mouth, and she bit her lip. She couldn’t stop the tears from flooding her face. All the nights spent with Adam flashed through her mind. They planned to leave town in six months when he turned nineteen. They were in love. She couldn’t let this happen to him. Not Adam.

It must be done. Adam will be the one. She watched Mr. Helm’s stern face. Our crops need fresh blood.

Can’t we stop doing this? her father blurted out. I’ve already sacrificed one child! His anger was unmistakable.

Our crops will fail, William.

No! her father said, slamming his hand on the table. I can’t. Not again.

Lily jerked at the noise. No, Father. Please, not Adam.

Helms interjected, We’ve tried not sacrificing, and our crops failed. Our people will starve if we don’t.

We must, Jonah declared, silencing everyone with a look. All agreed?

Aye. The words hit Lily like an axe, splitting her heart in two.

It must be done tomorrow, the last day of the harvest and on the night of All Hallows Eve, at the stroke of midnight. There will be a full moon, and the veil between the living and the dead will be at its most vulnerable, Helms said.

Lily opened her mouth to say something, but couldn’t. She turned to go back to her room, but the stairs creaked. She spun around and saw all five men looking at her.

William. You must contain her until after Hallows Eve, Jonah commanded.

William looked to the floor, but the candle light betrayed his attempt to hide the tears forming in his eyes. I know.

Confused, Lily backed up the stairs away from her advancing father. What are you doing?

Please, Lily. Just come with me.

No! What are you going to do with Adam?

It doesn’t concern you. He grabbed her by the wrist and pulled her down the steps and outside. He heaved open the root cellar doors and gave her a push on the back. You must stay down there until tomorrow evening.

I can’t! I’m afraid down there! she pleaded, her eyes welling up with tears.

You must.

No, Father, please! Don’t make me!

I’m sorry, Lily. He cleared his throat and shook his head. It has to be this way. He pushed her harder, and she fell down the stairs. The last thing she saw was his black silhouette as he slammed the wooden doors, then everything went dark.

Don’t hurt Adam! She cried, Please!

Lily pounded on the door, crying and pleading until blood oozed from her hands. Bugs crawling across the skin on her arms made her tremble and she wiped her arms fitfully to get them off her. Hours went by, until exhausted from crying and yelling, she finally succumbed to the darkness and slept.

When Lily awoke, rays of sunlight leaked through the cracks in the doors. She pounded on them again, this time one of the doors gave way, and she climbed out. She must have slept most of the day because the sun was already setting.

She had to warn Adam She figured they’d take him to Old Jonah’s place. It would take hours to walk there. Her body ached from sleeping in the root cellar, but she didn’t care. Down the back lane and across four farms to Old Jonah’s grey weather beaten barn, Lily ran through the tall, recently harvested berry vines, then crept toward the barn. Darkness had fallen and she was worried she might be too late.

She rushed toward the side door and pulled hard, trying to open it, without success. Venturing around the back, she found a window, and tried to peer in, but the windows were murky. Pressing on the window, she found it unlatched and hoisted herself up. She slid through and dropped to the floor. She tiptoed around the equipment to the back of the barn and a chill crept across her skin.

Before her stood a large, bloodstained metal tub and a grinding machine, red with dried blood. Lily doubled over and vomited onto the straw covered floor. A large mixer still contained fertilizer residue mixed with streaks of something crimson and stringy. It had been here for some time.

Footsteps startled her. She turned to face Jonah, Garth, and Helms, right behind her. In all her anxiety, she hadn’t noticed them come in. Maybe they had been here all along. Where was her father? Jack Thompson? Where was Adam? Adam . . . gentle Adam.

A hand reached around her chest and held her tight. She turned her head up to see Adam’s gentle eyes.

Adam! You’re okay! she cried.

I’m fine. His eyes sparkled with wetness. A tear fell onto Lily’s cheek.

They’re going to kill you, Adam. We’ve got to get out of here.

You’re not going anywhere girl, Old Jonah bellowed. The others moved closer toward her and Adam.

No, Lily. It’s not me they’re going to kill, Adam said aloud. Then he whispered into her ear, I love you.

You have to do it, boy! Helms urged. The crops need a sacrifice.

Here’s to another plentiful year of harvest! Jonah said, as he unscrewed the whiskey bottle. It’s one minute to midnight. Hallows Eve is here. Let’s celebrate!

Adam brought the knife up to Lily’s throat, her eyes widened at the sight of it and she gasped. But, where was her father?

Helms moved against them. Adam! What are you waiting for? Do it! Your family will starve if you don’t finish this now.

When I let go, Adam whispered into her ear, run.

What’cha doing, boy? Get on with it. The hour is drawing near, Jonah said, pouring Garth and himself a drink.

Adam watched them carefully. He let go and pushed Lily forward. She ran for the door. He kicked a bucket toward Helms who tripped over it in an effort to grab Lily. Jonah and Garth looked dazed as Adam followed Lily out the door, grabbing a lantern on the way out.

Adam spun quickly, pushed the door shut, and slammed the bolt down. Adam threw the lantern down into the straw at the doorway. The flames went wild, rising high against the dry barn wood.

They raced to the end of the orchard as dense fog seeped around them. There, with a spreader in his hands, fertilizing the crops with a blood-veined mixture was her father, William.

Lily stopped and gaped at her father.

Who? What have you done Father?

He hung his head down then peered up at her. Jack Thompson. It had to be done.

Your father’s idea, Lily. Adam smiled. I could never harm you.

But, I heard them speak your name Adam, Lily said, confusion clouding her eyes.

You were chosen first Lil, her father said. Adam was chosen to do the deed.

We need to get out of here, Adam said, his voiced filled with urgency, and then turned to Lily’s father. How will you explain this Joseph?

I’ll take care of it. Guess they got carried away drinking and weren’t watching the lanterns very well, Joseph said, grinning.

Lily reached out and hugged her father, I love you father.

You two get out of here, he said pulling back and looking Lily in the eyes. Lily turned around to join Adam who pulled her into a passionate embrace and then gently kissed her.

I love you, he said against her soft lips.

I love you too, Adam.

Let’s leave this place. Right now.

Yes, she said, facing her father. Someday I’ll come back father.

They both turned and walked down the dirt road away from the farm and away from their village.

With a final backward glance, Lily stared into the red tinged veil that was once a barn, certain their people would have a bountiful season.

Buried Secrets – By DewRina Lee

There was never any light;

Darkness was always lurking near—

Gliding over my skin in ease, taunting.

And any light that seeped through

Was unsighted with my blind eyes.

I…

I have been caught as an innocent victim;

Tangled in an unbreakable web of insults—

Embedded deep within a field of black thorns,

Surrounded by the masks of the dead

And voices that never cease to stop mocking me… I

Feel…

Feel hungry eyes wanting nothing more

Than to empty my entire soul and mind—

Ridiculing me until I am nothing more than bones,

Prodding me until I have bled all my blood, and

Clawing my heart’s flesh until I am

Numb…

Numb until my spirit could bear no more,

Beat no more, care no more, live no more—

My thoughts hovered towards the Doors of Death

As my fingers would rest on the cold metal, content;

Knowing the only way to live is to wither away

Inside…

The Beast Howls in Your Veins

The water is gone. Marcus admits it first, grim-faced. There are four of them now; under the circumstances it’s a blessing—will be a blessing, maybe—if they can get to the stream.

Lizzie snaps at Delia for forgetting to restock when it was safe. They only have so much time before they have to move again, and once they’re moving it’s got to be fast. No time to stop if someone gets