Mind Games

By James Kinsak

Welcome to the dark imaginings of James Kinsak. Here are five stories about very bad people messing with minds of others who may or may not deserve it – a psychiatrist who can’t figure out exactly how he’s been made prisoner, a husband and father with a past, a possible sex abuser, a psych major in college, a teenage boy who’s done a horrible thing. They’re each in for a rough ride. Contains “Therapy”, “E-Threats”, “Basement Talk”, “The Four-Handed Corpse”, and “Easy Time.”

• Language: English
• Publisher: Fiero Publishing
• Release date: May 30, 2011
• ISBN: 9781458065131

James Kinsak

James Kinsak writes fantasy, mystery, and horror stories that go into dark places and sometimes don't come out again.

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MIND GAMES

5 stories that do not end well

James Kinsak

Copyright © 2011 James Kinsak

Published by Fiero Publishing

Smashwords Edition, License Notes

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TABLE OF CONTENTS

Author Foreword

Therapy

E-Threats

Basement Talk

The Four-Handed Corpse

Easy Time

Afterword

Excerpt from Stay With Me

Author Foreword

The first novel I ever wrote all the way to the end, I showed to my wife with all the excitement of a new mother letting someone hold her child. I wanted my life-partner to race through it, be moved to tears and laughter, fall in love with the characters, tell me I was brilliant and a creator of life-changing prose.

Instead, I got a stricken look. No, worse, she could barely meet my eye. She went silent on me. When she finally did speak, it was to say she had to reevaluate just who it was she’d married.

This wasn’t, Oh, isn’t he sweet! Not even a Well he’s an interesting looking one. It was more, Your baby makes me want to vomit and run away from you as fast as possible.

I felt like I’d been stabbed in the heart.

Okay, to be fair, we were fairly recently married and she hadn’t read much of anything I’d written to date. And this particular work was to be my declaration that I wouldn’t hold anything back. So it was full of nasty sex, brutal murders, cannibalism, satanic-type rituals – stuff like that. Not good enough to really hold together, but good enough to shock and nauseate, I guess.

But why would you write that kind of stuff? she kept asking me. "And why would anyone want to read this kind of stuff?"

See? She’s calling you, the reader, a sick puppy too.

But that’s okay. I don’t think you’re a sick puppy. (Well, you might be a sick puppy, but I wouldn’t label you that just for picking up this collection of stories.) Because, as I explained to my wife back then and a number of times since, horror and dark fiction is an important safety valve in our society. It lets us explore the terrible, live through it, feel its gut anguish and confusion, question our values and beliefs – all from the relative safety of an armchair, toilet seat, commuter bus, or wherever you do your best reading.

On a basic level, some of us get a thrill from horror stories, from imagining ourselves or others in situations that threaten death or injury or attacks on loved ones. It gets our adrenaline pumping. It takes off the brakes imposed by normal society, since when we’re fighting for our lives or those of our loved ones, anything may be permissible. It lets us mentally explore what we could withstand and what we’re capable of.

And sometimes maybe we’re just a little cruel inside.

As you read through the stories of this anthology, I’ll let you decide what prompted me to write each one. Was it the desire to let off the brakes? Was it disgust or anger at something in society? Was it a warning? Was it a cruel poke in the eyes just because I could?

Hell, psychoanalyze me. And, if you enjoy any of these tales, psychoanalyze yourself at the same time.

Or just sink your teeth in and enjoy the red meat contained herein.

James Kinsak

May 30, 2011

You have a problem, Doctor.

Therapy

James Kinsak

Copyright © 2011 James Kinsak

You have a problem, Doctor.

The doctor squirms in his seat at the overhead clarity of the voice. The metal of the chair is rough under his bare thighs and he can see nothing the total blackness. But his breathing is fine; his heart, steady. They do not appear to have drugged or abused him.

Go ahead, he says roughly. Tell me what it is.

Your understanding of reality has damaged too many minds.

And this is what? Payback?

No. Therapy. Call it ‘Experiential Gestalt.’

Very clever. If I make a breakthrough, do I get to leave?

Perhaps. Are you willing to participate?

He swivels his head, squinting, but it doesn’t help. Am I willing...? Of course. Yes. Should he get up and run now, hands in front of him? Which way?

Good. Then the first thing to understand is that this conversation is not taking place.

Not taking place. Un-hunh. Which way?

And you are not really here.

Hoarse laugh. He’s annoyed because he can’t decide which way to run. Alright. Where am I?

Describe your environment.

My environment? He blinks and realizes he can see something after all – his eyes must be adapting – but what he sees is not good. Okay. I’d say...four-by-four room, slate black walls all around, dark, one chair, me. The floor is...um, gritty. I’m in bare feet. It smells dank in here. The ceiling... I can’t see the ceiling.

Look again.

Right. You’re right. I can see it now. About twelve feet up. Slate black like the walls. Where is the light coming from?

Look behind you.

Turns. A little slit under the door. I didn’t notice. Was the door unlocked? Could he...?

Silence. Waiting.

He pries his bulk off the chair and goes to the door. Pulls it. Pushes. Locked. He slaps his hand on it. Hello? Nothing. Alright, I’m trapped. You’ve got me. What do you want, really?

Maybe next session. Your time is up for today.

His head spins and the light fades.

***

Dim light again. Sitting in the chair.

Do you know how you came to be here?

Ha, the