Nightmares

By David Rattler

THE PROMISE
Madison Stone returns to her home town to uncover an event that happened on her twelfth birthday, but can she escape before it happens again?
THE CONTINUUM SYNDROME
John Ryan almost hits a shadow figure on a snowy night driving home , but a soothsayer reveals something even more terrifying about that night.
THE WOMAN IN THE WOODS
Nearing a century old, Edger Nichols is recording his past life. For the most past it been a peaceful, except the evening, he narrowly escaped the woman in the woods.
THE LAST MADE MEN
In the roaring twenties after the death of John Dillinger. The Hover Boy's were hot on the trail of Johnny Baptist and the old Brooklyn gang. The number two man on their list. After a shootout with the Hover Boy's in Kansas City, Kansas. where it all starts to go wrong. The gang heads south where it can only get worse. With J Edger's men hot on their trail the Gang must decide to flee or stand and fight until the last man's down.

• Language: English
• Publisher: David Rattler
• Release date: Jan 2, 2015
• ISBN: 9781310026157

David Rattler

For more information about David Rattler and his works long on to www.davidrattler.com

Book preview

NIGHTMARES

A COLLECTION OF HORROR

David Rattler

THE PROMISE

First edition. November, 2014

Copyright© 2014 David Rattler

Written by David Rattler

THE CONTINUUM SYNDROME

First edition. November, 2014

Copyright© 2014 David Rattler

THE WOMAN OF THE WOODS

First edition. 2014

Copyright© 2014 David Rattler

THE LAST MADE MEN

First edition

Copyright 2014 David Rattler

Smashwords Editions

Also by David Rattler

When Season’s Change Book I of The Season Series.

Discovery The Season of Shadows. Book II The Season Series.

Website http://www.davidrattler.com

Blog http://davidrattler.blogspot.com

THE PROMISE

Content with living out her life in San Diego, California, it was never Madison Stone’s intention of returning to Gossamer Point; a small farming community in the southeast corner of the Arkansas Delta. But to have done so would’ve meant betraying another promise to her brother Alfred.

The promise as strange as it had become came from Madison a year before Alfred died. The answers she told him would be there waiting. Alfred protested. But events of their childhood beckoned to her through a series of dreams, and with her nights plagued with nightmares, uncovering the past was the only real chance at a normal life.

The Gray Hound Bus came to a stop in front the General Mercantile Store where it had for the past thirty years, next to the antiquated soda machine, and an ice cooler with faded blue letters. Madison sat on the bus a moment staring out the window toward the old store, recalling the day she was abandoned. She could still see the grimace on her mother Lillian’s face before she turned and headed toward the door with her younger brother Alfred in hand. She has never forgotten that day and has never forgiven her mother—either.

Her only living relative now is her mother’s sister Hannah. They’ve never had a good relationship, but hopefully, now that Hannah’s terminally ill and nearly dead from some strange unknown illness, she would offer some insight into that terrifying moment of her childhood.

In the past Madison has tried numerous spiritual incantations and séances to rid herself of nightmares. She sought spiritual cleansings from a Native American Shaman and even hung a dream catcher above her bed. But they all failed and every night after sunset, when she closed her eyes, she entered the dark woods where faceless robe figures, holding lit candles, chanted a strange lexicon.

She stepped into the sweltering delta heat, breathed in the thick air, laced with a pungent smell of dying and decaying plants. This is the place where myths and legends determined the course of life, where the devils whispers were the same as the spoken words of God, where blessings and curses descend from a single entity.

She stared the bus driver as he removed luggage from underneath. His shirt clung to his back, sweat dripped from his face and down his arms to his hands. He’d stop occasionally to wiped sweat from his brow; take a quick breath, before starting again.

Across the street a dust devil danced—ominously. Thought she felt no sorrow of her mother’s death, she continued to stare searching for Lillian’s grave, through the tendril waves of heat letting her eyes following the small twister until it dissipated beyond the leaning tombstones, adding another layer over forgotten memories.

The sound of the door slamming shut startled her. She turned and stared at Roger Hoban the store owner as he approached. Roger paused midway and stood motionless, staring at the devil’s dance in the heat, but didn’t say a word. He looked the same as he did thirty years ago. It was as if time refused to age him a single day.

On the day her mother abandoned her, it was Roger that gave her money and put her on the bus three days later for California. She never got to thank him, but promised herself she would before leaving. She watched Rodger head back inside. The door slammed behind him. Taken aback by Roger’s strange behavior, she continued to stare a moment longer. She let her eyes fall on the empty space between the ice machine and the corner of the building, where the old men would gather and play checkers on hot summer days. More than likely all dead now and those that aren’t probably can’t remember yesterday let alone thirty years ago.

The driver sat her suitcase on the ground. She thanked him and headed toward the door.

She paused and stared through the tattered screen door. The overwhelming scent of Salome Lineament and burnt sage hit her first. Inside a brown haze filled the air. Tiny dust particles that seemed to move purposely through rays of scattered sunlight followed the air current of a slow turning fan in the window behind Rodger. A soft crunch underfoot brought a gasp she flashed down, and noticed a salt trail across the entrance.

She let her eyes follow it down each isle of the antiquated shelves that still held a few dust covered items, before following it toward the counter. Roger was there with her head down, he appeared to be reading, or more, perhaps, napping.

In front the counter the Coco Cola cooler with a silver top appeared to be the same as it was when she and Alfred would buy sodas on hot summer days. It had the same rattle and she could almost see Alford reaching for the broken handle with a smile.

Stepping over the salt trails Madison headed toward the counter. Is there a phone I can use?

In the corner next to the candy machine, don’t take dimes, been meaning to get that fixed.

Well at least he’s not asleep; she thought. She stared the phone, felt a strange perturbation, it was the same phone her mother made a call from on the day she abandoned her. Drawing a labored breath trying to abate the acrimonious feeling something she’s never gotten over since the day it happened she took a few steps toward the phone.

Madison Stone. A voice said.

Startled, Madison turned and locked eyes with the expressionless face of a tall man, standing near the counter. Clad in a long sleeve black and red plaid shirt, his long unkempt hair hung just below his narrow jaws and he leaned mostly on his left foot with both hands partially in the front pockets of his faded jeans. He looked familiar but she couldn’t place him. Do I know you?

Mark Wellington. I was in the senior high history with you.

She continued to stare not sure how to respond. She glanced over at Roger, expecting him to say something. Although, she didn’t know what he could add to this strange encounter, she hoped he’d say something, but Roger, seemed unaware of Mark presence. He couldn’t have been there when she walked in over the salt without making a sound, she thought, but yet there he stood. She returned her gaze back to Mark. I’m sorry, but I don’t remember you.

The recognition didn’t make her feel any less a stranger in her own home town instead it brought the anxiety of the past.

I’m not surprised. It’s been a while. Hell even the school’s gone now, Mark switched gears, that don’t work.

She drew her face into a frown before suddenly remembering the phone behind her. I heard it don’t take dimes.

Tell you the truth. Damn thing hadn’t made a call in thirty years.

She continued to stare, forced an uneasy smile that seemed more like an eternal grim. Mark glanced over at Roger. Her eyes followed. Roger was still sitting there with his head down as if the two of them didn’t exist.

So what bring you back to this ghost town?

Visiting, my Aunt, Hannah.

Mark grimaced. She’s just about the only elder left now. Most of them are dead and Hannah’s in pretty bad shape.

His words raced a chill, her stomach quivered slightly. It was the same feeling she gotten years ago at the mention of Hannah’s name, but still she hoped that age and sickness had softened Hannah.

I’ll give you a lift out to her house. Mark reached for the handle of her suitcase in her hand. His touch was as cold as ice when it closed around hers.

With the suitcase in hand Mark headed toward the back of the store. She forced herself to breath in the smoldering heat and staffing smells, before blazing a trail through the brown haze of dust toward the back.

She stared—in passing—at Roger, still seemingly unaware of Mark’s presence.

Salt crunched under foot with each step, disturbing the otherwise quiet hum of the fan, the only other sound in the store. Near the counter the salt trailed both horizontally and vertically across