Tales for a Dark Night

By Scott Clark

Some of the best scary stories are connected with urban legends. There is something in them that seems to touch a dark place in the psyche somewhere. That has to be why they show up all over in one form or another often virtually unchanged.
Some of the stories here are urban legends. Some are not. No matter which they are, however, each one of them is firmly planted in the eerie and the macabre.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Scott Clark
• Release date: Apr 13, 2010
• ISBN: 9781452396750

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Tales for a Dark Night

Tales of the eerie and of the macabre.

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Scott W. Clark

Smashwords Edition

PUBLISHED BY:

Scott W. Clark on Smashwords

Tales for a Dark Night

Copyright © 2010 Scott W. Clark.

All rights reserved. Without limiting the rights under copyright reserved above, no part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in or introduced into a retrieval system, or transmitted, in any form, or by any means (electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, or otherwise) without the prior written permission of both the copyright owner and the above publisher of this book.

This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, brands, media, and incidents are either the product of the author's imagination or are used fictitiously. The author acknowledges the trademarked status and trademark owners of various products referenced in this work of fiction, which have been used without permission. The publication/use of these trademarks is not authorized, associated with, or sponsored by the trademark owners.

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Preface

Growing up in Texas, I remember Saturdays. There was work to be done, mowing the lawn, general gardening, cleaning. But when we got our work done (and sometimes when we didn’t) we turned on the TV in the afternoon to watch Five Star Shock.

Five Star Shock showed scary movies. Watching it those afternoons we saw movies like Thirteen Ghosts, the greatest horror film to have ever been made--at least that’s what we thought at the time. Rumor had it that people had died seeing it. The fact that we had to confront the possibility of death when we saw it added a sense of danger to the viewing, and we could pride ourselves on our courage and congratulate ourselves at the end when we found we had survived.

We also saw some Frankenstein and Dracula and a lot of other movies I don’t remember the names of now. The thing I do remember is that they were scary. Middle of the day, sun shining outside, or mostly so (except in the winter) and I was scared--we all were scared.

As some protection against being ambushed by the monsters and ghosts, I always made sure I sat on the couch. The couch was set against the wall and I figured that whatever was out there that was stirred up by watching the movie couldn’t sneak up on me from behind if I sat on the couch and that couch was up against the wall.

Looking back on it, I realize that that might have been good for werewolves and vampires but not for ghosts. That ghosts could go through the wall and the couch didn’t enter my head back then even though I had seen something like that often enough in the movies. Maybe I just blocked it out as too horrific an outcome to think of.

So I guess I was always in danger of an attack from spirits in the rear. Anyway, it seemed to be a good idea at the time. At least it gave me some comfort.

And then on Saturday nights, if we were allowed to stay up late, we watched Project Terror. ("Where the scientific and the terrifying emerge. Or was it merge"?) More ghosts, more monsters, more horror. It all scared us to death and afterward we had to find ways of turning out the light and getting in bed without our feet touching the floor. (It was tough but I did it.) There was no telling what could be down there crawling around on the floor when the lights were out looking for a stray foot to grab hold of--we had just seen some of the possibilities.

It was all shocking, terrifying, scary, frightening and the cause of nightmares too many to number. In other words, we loved it. We always went back for more.

The point is that we liked to be scared as kids. We still like to be scared as adults. It takes more to do it when we get older —Thirteen Ghosts was pretty tepid when I saw it later-- but we still like to be scared. And that means that horror stories, scary stories, or just plain stories of the bizarre will always be with us.

Some of the best scary stories are connected with urban legends. There is something in them that seems to express some recurring theme or seems to touch a dark place in the psyche somewhere that must be a part of human beings. That has to be why they show up all over in one form or another often virtually unchanged.

The stories here are urban legends. They are otherworldly and deal with the supernatural. They all play on the fears we have, fears that seem to persist with us human beings even in the age of science and reason.

So pull up a chair (against the wall—just to be sure,) turn out the lights, click on the flashlight and feel the creep of a chill up your spine.

In other words, maybe you’ll love it.

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And I have seen the eternal Footman hold my coat, and snicker,

And in short, I was afraid.

T. S Eliot

1

The coin

The couple had spent their vacation driving through the North East to see the little towns and countryside of that area. They had stayed at small, cozy inns along the way and had been charmed by the small shops and restaurants they had seen in the towns on their route.

And the old homes! Marvelous! So quaint, so old fashioned and so very, very appealing!

But the end of their vacation came and they pointed their car for home. They expected to make their way leisurely to enjoy the trip back as much as they could before they returned to the grind of the real world once more. So they went as slowly as they could.

The day they began back, the couple drove all day until late afternoon. They had been told of an inn up ahead by some nice local fellow sitting by the roadside but they had missed a turn--or had not gotten the directions right in the first place, for some reason-- and they didn’t find it.

They ended up driving down one country road after another and they found nothing that looked like an inn.

They ended up in a very rural area. There were only farms thereabouts. It was a nice drive but it wasn’t getting them nearer to a place where they could spend the night. And dusk was beginning to settle in. It would be night soon and that would make it more difficult for them to find anything.

At one point, the man thought he had a solution to the problem. He thought he had finally figured it out. So he turned left, then left, and then left again. But that ended up solving nothing--they wound up right back where they started.

This looks familiar, said his wife, Alice.

It looked familiar to him too and he was a bit upset with himself about that fact. His wife, to avoid saying what she felt about it, looked out the window.

That’s odd, she said after a moment. She pointed out to the left among the trees. I didn’t see that house there the first time we were here, did you, John?

The words, the first time we were here rankled John, but, looking to where his wife pointed, the man confessed he hadn’t seen it either.

Good for us it’s there though, he said. Maybe we can drive over and ask them how to get to the nearest hotel?

That seemed like a good idea to his wife too. So they turned up the lane and pulled up to a place near the house by an old oak tree.

That oak tree was large, obviously old and it was oddly misshapen. When they got out of the car, it loomed over them, brooding, dark in the fading light of the setting sun.

To the right of the car, they noticed a creek that ran by. It angled away from the house and flowed on to some spot somewhere in the distance. The water gurgled in the stream as it passed.

Off in the distance, a horse stood out in a pasture.

They both turned toward the house.

The house itself was pleasant enough looking. It was old, the kind of house they had been seeing in some of the out-of-the-way places they had visited. It had a wide front porch with a swing on it. The siding was clapboard and it looked as if it had been built in the nineteenth century.

Funny they hadn’t seen it before. It was just this sort of house that would have caught their attention.

They crossed the porch and knocked on the door.

The door opened a few moments later and there standing in the doorway was an old man and his wife. They were dressed in nightclothes, which, of course, meant that they were on their way to bed.

The old man and his wife wouldn’t have been mistaken for wearing what was fashionable, that was for sure. As a matter of fact, they would be called distinctly old-fashioned in their appearance. But, then again, they were old.

They did seem friendly enough, though. The old man may not have been smiling but his face was not unpleasant even so. But the wife did smile. She fairly beamed with a smile that went almost from ear to ear.

I hate to say that we are lost, said John. And he did hate to say it. But it was a fact and there was nothing else to do about it. But can you point us to the nearest town. We need a hotel?

That would be in Newland, said the old man. "But that’s a far piece from here and it’s getting late out.

You’re welcome to stay here the night.

The man’s wife was behind him partially but looked out at them as he spoke. She neither spoke nor nodded; she just smiled at them.

We couldn’t possibly impose on you like that, said Alice. Two strangers come along at night. We just couldn’t think of doing that to you.

The man waved his hand. "Well, you could go to Newland but like I said that is a far piece from here. You couldn’t do it in the time left before it gets dark. Not nearly. It’d take hours even if you hurried.

"And I can explain how to get there, but when it gets dark, how would you find your way then?

No, you stay with us. It’s the best way.

The man stepped aside and motioned them in.

That was a good point. It was late and they didn’t know the area too well, even though they felt they