To Rise from the Grave...& Other Paranormal Short Stories

By Alex Severin

Four quietly creepy, sombre horror sories.

Two little-seen, micro-press published stories, one web favorite and one never before seen tale.

Table of Contents -

#1565 - an old man is still haunted by a tragic day at the circus, witnessed whilst he was only a boy.

Automatic - a non-believer paranormal investigator is forced to take re-think his own skepticism.

Rot of the Eye - a terror attack survivor awakes with an unfortunate ability - he sees the living as rotten corpses. But he can also see the dead.

To Rise from the Grave - one woman's undying love for her dead husband prompts her to carry out a very old tradition - to follow him to the grave.

Approx. 10,800 words.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Alex Severin
• Release date: May 16, 2011
• ISBN: 9781458169877

Alex Severin

Alex Severin was born in the Scottish Highlands, but was transplanted to the Wild, Wild West of the USA in 2005. She writes short stories, novels, screenplays, and loves to write about things that both repel and fascinate. She's tried her hand at custom written erotica - and quite successfully too (never had a complaint,) but decided she needed a career change after the clown porn story. Don't ask. 'Vampire Vintage Book One : Belladonna in Hollywood' is Alex's debut novel and the first installment of the 'Vampire Vintage Series.'

Book preview

To Rise from the Grave...

& Other Paranormal Short Stories

A Collaborative Collection

by

Alex Severin & Kailleaugh Andersson

Copyright 2002 - 2005,

Alex Severin & Kailleaugh Andersson

All Rights Reserved

Smashwords Edition

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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.

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Cover by Alex Severin

Cover Image : Graveyard by emilbacik @ SXC.hu

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TABLE OF CONTENTS

#1565 (2002)

Automatic (2005)

Rot of the Eye (2004)

To Rise from the Grave (2004)

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#1565

I am an old man. My eight year old granddaughter by my side makes me feel even older than I am. Her head is tossed back, sunny curls dancing in the breeze. She laughs as the carousel turns round and round, digging her heels into the horses as if to make them giddy-up. They are cheap plastic beasts, impaled by red and white candy cane poles; they gallop to garbled electronic droning that blares from loudspeakers fixed above a strange-haired, emo-goth kid, smoking cigarettes, and scowling what he thinks is menacingly at everybody as he works the controls.

It is August. The sun blazes from morning onward, so blistering hot that even my pores hurt. The day gorges itself on cotton candy, soda, hot dogs, popcorn, snow cones; the ever present stench of too much food that hangs over any boardwalk, mingles with the giggles from my granddaughter's pink face and I am unsure whether I want to laugh or vomit. The ambiance around me is nauseating. It is at odds with my memories of what the circus used to be.

As the sun sets I welcome the evening’s cool presence. The giant livestock arena now casts a dark, moving shadow over the carnival.

Rows of tiny multicolored lights suddenly flash to life like a hundred thousand glowing eyes, and the black asphalt beneath me grows fuzzy, begins to spin and slowly, ever so slowly, the present becomes the past. A past I wish my memory was bad enough to forget.

I am 16 again. A kid. War still rages in Europe. Where there was once asphalt beneath my feet there is now dirt - the dirt is strewn with unfiltered cigarette butts and I can see dead beer bottles lying in state all around me, and a blue 4-H ribbon that some proud farm kid must have dropped in his excitement.

The cheap, plastic equines are replaced by vibrant wooden steeds with flowing manes, and streaming ribbons tied around their hooves. But they soon fade into a nightmare of weathered gray bone with empty eye-sockets, and torn sinew for manes and tails as they bleed from being impaled, upside down, onto long, sharp poles.

The smell in the air is not the scent of