Darker Places

By Shaun Allan

What if you could steal the final moments from the dying? What if you had the darkest secret, but couldn’t think what it might be? What if you entered the forest in the deep of the night. Who is the melting man? And are your neighbours really whom they appear to be?

So many questions.

To find the answers, you must enter a darker place. Thirteen stories. Thirteen poems. Thirteen more doorways.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Shaun Allan
• Release date: May 1, 2015
• ISBN: 9781910484104

Shaun Allan

Shaun Allan is a Wattpad Star, featured author and Wattys winner. Having appeared on Sky TV to debate traditional vs electronic publishing against a major literary agent, he writes multiple genres, including young adult and childrens', but mainly delves into his Dark Half to produce psychological horror. He has worked with Universal, Goosebumps, Blumhouse and DC Comics and regularly holds writing workshops at local schools. Many of his personal experiences and memories are woven into the point of view and sense of humour of Sin, the main character in his best-selling novel of the same name, although he can’t, at this point, teleport.Shaun lives with his daughters and a manic dog called Ripley (believe it or not). He works full time, co-owns a barbers salon and writes in that breath between his heartbeats. Though his life might, at times, seem crazy, he is not.Honest.

Book preview

Darker

Places

By

Shaun Allan

Darker Places

By Shaun Allan

Smashwords Edition

Copyright © 2014 Shaun Allan

All rights reserved. Except as permitted under the U.S. Copyright Act of 1976, no part of this publication may be reproduced, distributed or transmitted in any form or by any means, or stored in a database or retrieval system without the prior written permission of the author or publisher.

This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents are products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously and are not to be construed as real. Any resemblance to actual events, locales, organizations, or persons, living or deceased, is entirely coincidental.

ISBN-13: 978-1-910484-10-4

ISBN-10: 1-910484-10-5

Singularity Books

www.singularity-books.co.uk

In association with

Myrddin Publishing Group

www.myrddinpublishinggroup.com

Credits:

Editor: Connie Jasperson

Cover: Lisa Daly

Formatting: Indie Minions

* * * *

Dedication

To anyone who holds a torch for those in a ‘dark place’,

and for the keeper of my own – my wife.

* * * *

Also by Shaun Allan

Sin

Dark Places

Mr. Composure

Zits’n’Bits

Tooth, the Whole Tooth and Nothing but the Tooth

Final Entry

Computers Don’t Wear Pink Pyjamas

Rudolph Saves Christmas

* * * *

Visit Shaun Allan at

www.shaunallan.co.uk

* * * *

Praise for Darker Places

"Dark and twisted… Love it!"

"The imagery. The choice of words. It’s all too good!"

"Excellent story! I don’t think I’ll ever forget it!"

Acknowledgements

I sometimes wonder, and am often asked, how I come to write such dark tales. I’m a happy, laid back, person full of humour and smiles. How come, then, do I find it so easily to venture into my dark half?

It’s not a question I can easily answer, and my answer changes each time I think about it. On the one hand, such darkness may be a way of keeping the light shining. A sort of therapy where the shadowy innards of my soul seep out through my fingertips. On another, it may be my own childhood encounters echoing out across the page.

Of course, it may also be that I find it fun. I enjoy dipping my toes into the murky waters of my own psyche (that’s, as Sin would say, psyche with an ‘e’ not with an ‘o’).

Anywho-be-do. I do have others to blame thank for helping me survive or for pushing me into those waters. Roll call!

Connie, my dear editor. You held my hand and ensured the creatures swimming beneath the surface, hungry teeth sharp and shiny, didn’t nibble on my toes (all the way up to my neck). Sue, you held the lifebelt in case I needed it thrown. Cindy, you inflated the armbands to help me stay afloat.

Helen, I thank you for, so often, flicking on the light to show me the myriad paths I could take into the shadows. And I thank my old Western Comprehensive school friends for allowing me to kill you off when ‘I’ came ‘home’ – initially Ian then, well, everyone! And I thank you, my wonderful readers, for pushing me in and enjoying me flailing about.

As ever, it is a pleasure.

Finally, I must thank my wife for walking with me in the darkness and helping lead me into the light.

Table of Contents

The Echo

Hunger

Words

Canvas

Moonlight

The Coming

Summer Loving

Secrets

Swept Away

The Masquerade

The House on the Hill

The Lake

Little Dead Riding Hood

Home

Phoenix

Creature

Gremlins

Soul

Time

The Crow

Never Again

Footsteps

The Face of the Storm

Stolen Moments

Fallen

Prelude

Non est bonum, aut malum. Tantum est vita vel morte. Mors mihi.

There is no good or evil. There is only life or death. I am Death.

The Echo

There's an echo

where once was

laughter,

friends,

familiar,

comfortable.

Now travels across time,

across worlds,

across hearts,

make familiar falter.

Make comfortable

cascade,

into wonder,

uncertainty.

But from wonder comes wisdom,

from the uncertain

comes the certain.

And where familiar may falter

feet are found,

an echo is but

the sound,

the feeling,

the soul of life.

Waiting to fill voids

left by Life's unsteady steps,

make your footfalls firm,

make your laughter heard,

make your smile give warmth.

And the echo will wait no more,

the echo may be your first friend,

but it will not be your last.

Hunger

I heard the sound, loud in the still of the night.

Well, it wasn't exactly still... Cars went by, people huddled down against the cold, lights were on in houses and shops were closing up for the day. Shutters were pulling down, the windows' eyelids closing for their night-time slumber.

In winter, when your breath takes form and your hands battle your money for dominion in your pockets, the night takes over from the day at a time just when everyone actually needs it. To walk from work or school. To drive home. To feel safe.

But, though that world was spinning down to rest, the cold made the air crisp and clear.

And sound travelled on it like a surfer on a wave.

It was... odd.

You know when you recognise a voice, but can't place whose it is? It was like that, except no-one spoke. It was more than simply a random noise, slipped from the dark. It had substance. Ownership.

But... I couldn't place it. It was, in fact, out of place. Unusual in that you wouldn't and shouldn't hear it whilst walking down a street in the evening.

It was... eating. Crunching. Slurping.

I stopped. I was the only one. Other pedestrians went on the way, some alone, some in couples or groups. One or two looked at me as if I was a mad for stopping so randomly. As if I'd insulted them by daring to waver in my walking. They continued on their way, however. Unheeding and unhearing.

The alleyway sucked the light from the atmosphere, hungrily devouring it, seemingly gaining sustenance from the illumination - a deeper darkness in contrast to the glow of the streetlights. It felt heavy. It felt, somehow, substantial.

The sounds of hunger were not coming from the night, however. Thankfully. Well, I suppose thankfully. They were coming from further in. Further back.

They would be, naturally.

I should leave it. It's a dog. A cat. Maybe a lion, for all I knew, escaped from a travelling circus.

No, it was none of these. Not even the lion. It wasn't so random. It didn't feel like an animal.

Perhaps some homeless man huddled in the shadows, hiding from the cold and the world. If so, I'd offer a few coins and be on my way. The mist of our combined breaths would mingle, akin to a shake of the hand as I did my good deed and felt a little saintlier.

In for a few coins, in for a pound of flesh...

I pulled my hands from my pockets, where they'd been duelling with a couple of fifty pence pieces, with a two pound coin being the referee. All the better to defend myself, my dear. Just in case, you know?

The cold air nibbled at my fingers like tiny piranhas and I wanted to shove them back into my jeans. I didn't, though. Nor did I carry on walking. I was drawn in, my curiosity overpowering my reason with a face-hugging pillow.

I waded through the cloying darkness, the sounds of feasting making my own stomach grumble in sympathy. My eyes adjusted quickly as I walked, enough that I could avoid the empty beer cans and puddles of what I assumed wasn't simply water.

There was a big bin. A general waste container for the businesses around. Practically the size of a skip, with bulging black bags piled around it, the bin watched me as I approached. I felt it judging me.

Idiot, it was thinking.

I tended to agree, but I couldn't stop my feet as their steps carried me on.

Then, I saw.

On the ground, a woman. Or what was left of one. The darkness deemed the scene worthy of allowing some moonlight in. I could see her long hair. I could see the swell of a breast beneath her coat and a heel, snapped from the sole of the shoe she was wearing, hanging loosely.

I could see a pool of blood spreading, reaching towards me, beseeching me to save her. Too late. I could tell. The gaping hole at her waist was proof enough.

That was the sound. That was what was being eaten.

The figure bent over her, crouching, heard my gasp before I'd realised I'd uttered one. It stood quickly and turned to me, blood smeared across its face.

I always thought they were just in the movies. Along with vampires and werewolves and witches. I always thought they were something to shoot in the games on my phone.

They're not.

I always thought they'd have dead eyes, too. Their brain would have rotted away taking all but the need to eat the living along with it.

That's what I thought.

I was wrong.

They're not just in the movies.

And their eyes aren't dead. They have a fire in them. An intent. A hunger.

The zombie lunged.

Words

See you later

Bye

Love you

A response,

silently whispered

my mind filling in,

what my mouth forgot to utter.

I mentally answered,

not thinking

the silent words would not carry,

her ears would not hear

But I hoped her heart would.

I hoped her heart would

snatch the thoughts,

hold them close,

keep them safe.

I should have said it.

I should have told her,

a casual, automatic reply

Love you too

its habitual use,

not detracting from,

its constant worth.

I should have said,

a hiccup of the heart,

a cardiac fart,

a chance interruption.

Biding its time,

waiting to strike.

Waiting for me to forget,

to rush

See you later, she said.

Bye, I replied.

Love you, she said.

But later, I died.

Canvas

Today is the first day of the end of my life.

That's not how that line is meant to go, is it? Shouldn't it be 'Today is the first day of the rest of my life'?

Oh well. I'm not entirely traditional. Being normal was always boring.

Well, I thought so, anyway.

I had a life. A normal life. A job I actually enjoyed, which probably was weird in itself. How many people wake up in the morning and don't mind going to work? How many, instead, want to throw the alarm across the room? To turn over and go back to sleep rather than face the same drones doing the same drudge? Not me. I liked my job. My colleagues were my friends.

It was... normal.

I watched TV. Listened to music. Lots of music. All sorts of music. I ate food. Usual things. Curry. Chilli. Roast beef or chicken with roast potatoes, vegetables and Yorkshire puddings. I liked chocolate. Probably a little too much.

It wasn't the