The Midnight Zone

By Elizabeth Delisi

*LIMITED AUTOGRAPHED EDITION*

When Cassie buys an antique compact, little does she know it can foretell the future--her future. Marjorie, a Florida girl unwillingly transplanted to Vermont, learns there's more to fear from the alien snowfall than just the cold. Neil Dallas's jagged descent from rock and roll singer to drug-addicted has-been is unstoppable . . . or is it?

Travel deep into unknown territory, where life and death are not as they seem; where you have to be careful what you ask for, because you might get it. These stories will take you beyond the realm of the solid and real, into the deepest, darkest corner of your imagination. Don't forget to bring your flashlight . . .

• Language: English
• Publisher: Tirgearr Publishing
• Release date: Apr 25, 2013
• ISBN: 9781301204182

Elizabeth Delisi

Elizabeth Delisi is an award-winning author of romance, mystery and suspense, with a touch of the paranormal. She has been an avid reader all her life, and wrote her first story in first grade. She has written novels, short story collections, how-to articles, and has worked as a reporter, columnist, and writing instructor.When she’s not writing, Elizabeth loves to read. She also enjoys working with tarot cards, knitting and weaving, and watching old movies. She collects tarot decks, and antique compacts.

Book preview

When Cassie buys an antique compact, little does she know it can foretell the future—her future. Marjorie, a Florida girl unwillingly transplanted to Vermont, learns there's more to fear from the alien snowfall than just the cold. Neil Dallas's jagged descent from rock and roll singer to drug-addicted has-been is unstoppable . . . or is it?

Travel deep into unknown territory, where life and death are not as they seem; where you have to be careful what you ask for, because you might get it. These stories will take you beyond the realm of the solid and real, into the deepest, darkest corner of your imagination. Don't forget to bring your flashlight . . .

THE MIDNIGHT ZONE

Elizabeth Delisi

Published by Tirgearr Publishing

Smashwords Edition

Author Copyright 2013 Elizabeth Delisi (http://www.elizabethdelisi.com)

Covert Art: Amanda Stephanie (http://www.tirgearrdesign.com)

Editor: Christine McPherson (http://www.tirgearrpublishing.com)

Proofreader: Sandra Stewart (http://www.tirgearrpublishing.com)

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Thank you for respecting the hard work of this author.

ALL RIGHTS RESERVED

DEDICATION

To Maureen, my best friend and fellow author.

To Isabel and Aaron, who make being Nana fun.

And to Dan, forever and always.

THE MIDNIGHT ZONE

By Elizabeth Delisi

TABLE OF CONTENTS

The Doctor’s Story

Time Is Up

The Handbook

The Judgment Stone

Pen Pals

The Perfect Housewife

Star Light, Star Bright

The Gathering

Mirror, Mirror

Snow Spirits

Music Man

Curiosity Killed the FPS Man

Jury of One

The Last Married Couple

THE DOCTOR’S STORY

by William Cummings Gegenheimer

Written ca. 1900

Yes, said Dr. Barrington as he settled comfortably back in his easy chair and gazed at the curling rings of smoke that rose from his fragrant Havana. I have met with many strange and interesting experiences in the course of my extensive practice, and most of them would make delightful stories if only I were at liberty to tell them. But there was one event in particular in which I took an active part about thirty years ago, which perhaps after so long a time, I may be permitted to relate. . .

* * *

In 1870, I had completed my medical education. I had established an office in a most respectable part of Boston where, hanging out my gilt-lettered shingle, I waited patiently—or rather impatiently—for an opportunity to relieve suffering humanity and incidentally fill my purse.

One dark, stormy evening while idly sitting alone after only a few weeks in my new office, I was called to the door by a sharp ring of the bell. As I opened the door, there stepped quickly in out of the darkness a well-dressed young man about twenty-four or twenty-five years of age—evidently a man of wealth and refinement.

With a quick movement, he closed the door and in a low but somewhat excited tone said, Doctor, I must have a half hour’s conversation with you in private. I ushered him into my private office, taking in at a glance his neat appearance and handsome face, which very favorably impressed me. On entering the office, he stood in the shadows until I had pulled down the window shade which, up to this time, had been raised all evening, thus exposing the whole of my well-lighted office to the gaze of passersby in the street. Motioning him to a chair, I waited for him to state his business.

Doctor, said he, "I want your help in one of the strangest cases you can imagine. It is a matter of life or death to one most dear to me; and if after hearing my story, you will consent to aid me, you may name any amount you choose in payment for your services.

I hardly know how to approach the subject, he went on, but perhaps this will serve as an introduction to the strange request I am about to make. With that, he handed me a copy of a local paper and placed his finger on an item among the notices of deaths. It read as follows:

Died–McAllister–In A________, June 9th, Ethel, beloved daughter of James and Alice McAllister: age 19 years 7 mos. High Mass in St. Joseph’s Church, Saturday at 9 a.m. Relatives and friends invited to attend.

A________ was a suburban town a few miles out. The paper was five days old. I handed back the paper and looked inquiringly at him.

Doctor, said he, the young lady was placed in the family vault at A________, but she is not dead!

You mean, I exclaimed, that she revived and is in need of medical assistance?

No, said he. She is still in the tomb and still alive, and I want you to go at once with me to her, and use your skill to awaken her from the trance in which I am convinced she now lies.

By this time, I was deeply interested in my strange visitor, though fully convinced he was insane. Poor fellow, thought I, you have far more need of my services than the dead Ethel McAllister, who has been in her grave three days.

Something of this must have shown itself in my face, for as though reading my thoughts, he started up and impulsively grasping my hand, he exclaimed, Doctor, I am not insane! Neither am I trying to play a joke on you or to create a sensation. Listen, I implore you, to my story and then I am sure you will lend me your aid.

He was terribly in earnest. His nervous system was under a great strain. I partly forced, partly helped him again to a chair and poured out a glass of wine for him to drink. When he had somewhat calmed himself and could command his voice, he told me the following story.

My name is Clarence Holmes and I have lived all my life until a year ago in A________. Ethel McAllister was the daughter of a wealthy neighbor, and five years younger than myself. We grew up from childhood together, and I cannot remember the time when we were not passionately in love with each other. While we were children, our parents thought nothing of our mutual attachment, but as I grew to manhood, Ethel’s parents seemed inclined to keep her more away from me, although they were on intimate terms with my family and very friendly toward me in other respects. For me, there was but one girl in the whole world, and that one, Ethel. He sighed and I nodded encouragingly.

I loved the trees under which she walked, he continued, and the flowers which bloomed beside her path. The ground on which she trod was sacred soil. I have every reason to know that my affection was fully returned. I tell you all this that you may know the depth of our feeling. His voice broke and he paused to compose himself.

When I was twenty-one, I appealed to Ethel’s father and mother to have a formal engagement made between us, but was firmly—though kindly, even tearfully—told there was an obstacle in the way of our union. That obstacle was the difference in our religious faith. They were, as of course I had always known, Catholics, while I was a Protestant, though not a member of any church. I pleaded in vain. As much as they loved Ethel, their only child, and as much as they loved and respected me as a friend, they would rather see their daughter in her grave than married outside of the true church. Ethel’s tears and my prayers were alike of no avail. In this one matter, they were as stone.

He rose from the chair and paced back and forth across the faded carpet. They blamed themselves deeply for not having sooner realized the growth of our attachment; but now it must cease. It seemed to me then as though all the brightness had gone out of life. I lost all ambition for the future and brooded deeply over my trouble.

I nodded again, not wishing to break the spell.

The next three years were an age to me. As time dragged wearily on, I lived only in hope that Ethel’s parents would relent, but they remained obdurate. We were not forbidden to see each other, but under the circumstances, of course I could not call at the house to see her alone. She was the soul of honor, and would not have listened to any proposals for clandestine meetings had I made them. The very few times we ever saw each other alone were bright spots in my dreary existence. She still loved me as much as ever and would never marry another, but as long as her parents lived, she would obey them.

He paused and fixed me with a mournful stare. During those three long years, I was afflicted with more than my share of sorrow. My father sickened and died, and my mother followed him only a few months later. Thinking that my lonely condition would now perhaps soften the hearts of Ethel’s parents, I resolved to make one more appeal to them and if that was of no avail, I would leave my native town and in some way strive to overcome my heartache in the busy rush and whirl of some large city. It is needless to say that the McAllisters remained firm in their prejudice against their daughter’s union with a Protestant. Vain were my heartbroken appeals, my promise to adopt the Catholic creed. He sighed. "They were sure that a conversion of faith under such circumstances would not be sincere or lasting. Moved even to tears at my distress, still their convictions would not allow them to commit this sin. I was permitted to have a last farewell interview with Ethel.

With a heart too full for utterance, I could but press her to my heart, while in my despairing face she read the result of my interview with her parents. A tear slipped down his face. Bravely she tried to comfort and cheer me with hopes for the future. While her parents lived, she felt bound to obey them, but ‘When I am left alone,’ said she, ‘I will become your bride, if you still wish it.’

‘But,’ said I, ‘what if death should come between us? I shudder to think that perhaps while I am yet working and waiting, it may be far away, death might snatch you from me.’

"Then, taking both my hands in hers and looking up into my