Portraits Of Dread

By Michael J. Elliott

A Gallery containing chilling tales of fear and horror.

In Mother Called Today A woman becomes increasingly frightened of phone calls from her mother. She knows a terrifying secret about her that she can't tell anyone.

In Speaking Of Death We're told by a greedy financial advisor why we should be scared of the afterlife...very scared.

In A Glutton For Punshment we visit a frightening society of the not too distant future. A world where the obese are pariahs and are locked into detention camps. Lynda Whittaker becomes one camp's newest inmates and she's about to discover a shocking secret..that even the overweight have their uses.

In The Little Man On Top Of The Wardrobe four year old James has always been very good about going to bed but now he becomes extremely afraid of bed time because there is something evil living on top of his wardrobe. Of course it's just his imagination...isn't it?

These and  other macabre tales to chill the bood and scare the soul. Are you game?

• Language: English
• Publisher: Plaisted Publishing
• Release date: Oct 31, 2015
• ISBN: 9781516360178

Michael J. Elliott

Michael J. Elliott is an Australian author who has been writing since his early schooldays. His headmistress once described him as, "A second Alfred Hitchcock." He majored in Media Studies in College and wrote and directed short films, videos and radio ads. Michael has also written sketch comedy for Australian television. He lives in a bayside suburb in the State of Victoria. When not writing stories to chill readers he enjoys Golden Age Hollywood movies, reading, drawing, and cooking. He is also the illustrator for Claire Plaisted's series of childrens books, Girlie's Adventures. Michael is single but shares his life with his two cats, Charlie and Snaps.

Book preview

Portraits Of Dread

PORTRAITS OF DREAD

A COLLECTION OF SHORT HORROR STORIES

Michael J. Elliott

COVER DESIGN GRAPHICZ X Designs  http://graphiczxdesigns.zenfolio.com.

Edited by Christie Stratos of Proof Positive Editing  http://proofpositivepro.com

Copyright 2015 Michael J. Elliott

All Rights Reserved.

This book is a work of fiction. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.

This book is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. No part of this publication may be republished or resold.

Thank you for respecting the hard work of the author.

DEDICATION

THIS BOOK IS DEDICATED to my late Mum, Joan Elliott. She always believed I was one of life’s late bloomers.

CONTENTS.

DINNER FOR TWO

A Psychopath’s Love Poem

A Portrait Of Dread

Mr Westacott’s Christmas

Defective Goods

I See

Speaking Of Death

A Glutton For Punishment

Mother Called Today

Reconstructing Teddy

The Little Man On Top Of The Wardrobe

Possums

Bonus Preview: Mr Westacott’s Holiday

DINNER FOR TWO

THE MAITRE D’ OF HEAVENLY stood ramrod straight. He beamed at Gareth and Margaret.

He was painfully thin. His clothes hung off him like those on a scarecrow. His Asiatic skin was pockmarked, as though a madman with a drill had taken to his face. His jet black hair was styled with a severe part in the centre and was plastered down with some sort of oil or grease. His smile, though totally appropriate for his position, was slightly disconcerting. There were many missing and yellowing teeth and lots of rotted black stumps. His breath was rancid and smelt of decay and things long dead.

Despite his unhealthy appearance, he was the epitome of courtesy and efficiency. He greeted Gareth and Margaret effusively, more so because they were regular patrons and generous tippers. Margaret peered into the interior of the restaurant.

The dining room was small, only containing seven tables with accompanying chairs, all of which were of various heights, styles and quality. There were no lamps or overhead lights. The room was illuminated by candles in sconces strategically placed along the walls. The candles cast a warm yellow glow, but they highlighted the peeling, yellowing wallpaper. The candlelight danced and played over the battered furniture. Margaret could make out a solo figure. A diner who appeared to be lying face down on a plate or shallow bowl.

Margaret sniffed disdainfully. Gareth, may we dine alfresco tonight?

Of course, my dear.

Lim’s grin remained in place, although thankfully, he’d reduced the amount of teeth on display. Very good choice, sir, madam. Beautiful night tonight, airborne pathogen count very low. I will fetch your waiter to take you to your table. Excuse me please, I will be one moment.

With a slight bow, he turned and headed towards the kitchen.

Whilst they waited, Margaret attempted to cover her bald spot with a comb-over of her sparse grey hair. Gareth coughed and spat a wad of bloodied phlegm towards the floor ashtray. Possessing only one eye and limited depth of vision, he missed and it sat on the threadbare carpet where it mingled with the other filth. A few minutes later, Lim emerged from the kitchen accompanied by a man wearing a black jacket, trousers but no shirt.

Sir, madam, this is your waiter for this evening, Thomas. He kicked Thomas in the shins. Stand up straight, he barked. Thomas remained stoic in the face of his superior’s assault.

Thomas was a weedy, unremarkable looking man. He had a head that appeared to be too large for his small shoulders. His sparse ginger hair was like a newborn’s. Margaret noticed a number of angry-looking, greenish-grey pustules on his neck and chest. He hugged the menu protectively to his chest. With head bowed, he ushered Margaret and Gareth outside.

The new owners of Heavenly had made an attempt to clean up the outside of the restaurant. The animal carcasses had been removed and the rusty, empty cans, wet cardboard and building debris were no longer part of the immediate vicinity. Despite the recent beautification attempts, Margaret’s cracked and heelless shoes crunched over a number of bones, mostly animal, thankfully.

After a few minor stumbles, Thomas seated them at a small wooden table. A forlorn plastic rose in a cracked glass vase sat on top, alongside two chipped stemmed glasses. There were six other sets of tables and chairs spaced around their own. Thomas handed them their menus. Water, sir, madam?

Yes please, Thomas, said Margaret without looking up from her menu.

Thomas nodded and scuttled back inside the restaurant. After a few minutes of silence, Gareth looked up from his menu.

Puréed spiders, dear?

Margaret wrinkled her nose. No thank you, dear. I’m not in the mood for arachnid tonight.

Gareth nodded sombrely. I noticed the specials aren’t listed. I shall ask Thomas about that.

The sturdy bluestone wall that had once enclosed the restaurant’s garden was now a pile of rubble. The ivy that had once sprawled verdantly over its surface still clung tenaciously to its composite parts. Its green tendrils gently searched out new and possible fertile ground to stifle. Margaret wondered if ivy was edible.

From the half gloom of the former entrance, a figure emerged. Small and thin, the figure was wearing a grimy hooded jacket and ragged shorts. It was difficult to make out any features on the interloper. Judging by its size and build, the new arrival may have been a small child or woman. The person had a hessian sack slung over one shoulder and it bulged at odd angles, suggesting that it was at least half full.

After a few more steps the figure bent down and picked up an indistinguishable object, examined it, then placed the newly acquired treasure into the sack. The mouse, as Gareth had come to think of the figure, glanced up at him briefly. The mouse lowered its gaze and then shuffled towards the side of the restaurant. He shook his head in disdain.

Really, one would think the management would do more to keep the riff-raff out.

Margaret nodded. Where are the security patrols when you need them?

Gareth was about to respond when Thomas, like a silent cat, appeared next to them. He carried a jug of water on a battered metal tray. With a flourish borne from years of service, he poured the brackish water into the two glasses.

Would sir and madam care to order now?

The arrival of the interloper had interrupted their perusal of the menu. Gareth opened the menu and then closed it again quickly, almost fearful that the offerings within its pages wouldn’t tempt his already jaded taste buds.

I don’t suppose... he began slowly. Well, I was just...ah...wondering whether lamb may be available?

Or mutton, perhaps? added Margaret.

Thomas chuckled at the thought of such haute cuisine. He then became appropriately sombre as he remembered his station.

I’m terribly sorry, but as you can imagine, both are extremely difficult to procure.

Of course, said Gareth in his best stiff-upper-lip British voice.

Dog or cat, perhaps? quizzed Margaret.

Thomas shook his head. If only sir and madam had chosen to dine with us last week.

Gareth could see the choices of meat disappearing into the distance like a departing train.

Reptile? asked Margaret with hungry eyes.

Thomas gave them his best I’m-so-sorry look. Not at the moment madam, but I can inform you that we have secured some tadpoles and we’re hoping to breed them to ensure a constant supply of frogs for your culinary pleasure.

Thank you, Thomas, you will inform us when they become available?

Of course madam.

As if to forestall any further disappointment, the diners buried their heads in the menu. The fare on offer did not inspire them.

Acorn soup, sautéed elderflower, not even any slugs or crickets. Oh honestly, Thomas, have you no meat dishes at all? pouted Margaret.

I say, it really is a bad show, Thomas, when two of your regular and best tipping customers can’t order a meat dish.

Thomas bent over them conspiratorially. I sympathize, sir, I really do.

He leaned in even closer. We do have an item that has...um...been omitted from the menu due to being in short supply. As a senior member of staff, I am at liberty to offer it to you both. Would sir and madam enjoy barbecued rat?

Their eyes widened in anticipation. You have rat?

Although the new item being offered was an improvement on what the menu contained, they both looked slightly crestfallen. Perhaps they had been expecting something more exotic rather than a common or garden variety rodent. Thomas was expecting this and upped the culinary ante.

And management have secured a goat. We now have access to milk. I’m led to believe that one of our kitchen staff grew up on a farm and could possibly create cheese or yogurt.

Margaret looked horrified. "You have a goat and you’re offering us rat?"

Gareth, a former businessman, was far more pragmatic.

One doesn’t kill the golden goose, my dear. They would only be able to serve the goat once, but the milk and other consumables will continue for our future dining pleasure.

Margaret acquiesced to her husband’s superior wisdom.

Indeed, sir, and the rats have been gently marinated in thyme-infused goat’s milk, then barbecued to bring out the flavour.

A small trail of saliva trickled from the corner of Margaret’s mouth. Oh Thomas, that does sound tempting.

We have also secured a tin of peas.

Gareth’s eyes became the size of saucers. A positive banquet, my dear.

I do feel duty bound to inform sir that the peas are an additional charge and are...um, rather expensive.

Gareth raised a quizzical eyebrow. How much?

Thomas cleared his throat. Minimum serve is half a tin at twenty-five pounds. The rats themselves are twenty pounds each.

Margaret looked up at her husband beseechingly. "Oh Gareth, please say we may have the half serve of peas."

Gareth slowly shook his head. I’m terribly sorry darling, I simply don’t have enough cash with me.

Sir, please don’t let that small matter prevent you from enjoying a fine meal. As you may know, management will gladly accept anything else of value in lieu of cash.

Gareth looked up at his wife. Would you mind, darling?

Margaret began unfastening one of her drop pearl and diamond earrings. Her earlobe dropped off. There was very little blood.

Oh bother, was her only comment. She handed the earring over to Thomas, who gave her a slight bow as he placed it discreetly into his pocket.

An excellent decision if I may say so, madam. I shall go and instruct chef to begin your meal.

Thomas left the diners alone with their private thoughts.

THE RATS WERE SERVED without their legs and surrounded by the peas. The meat was a dark brown. The skin was slightly blackened in places, but overall the chef had done a competent job of presenting the rodent. Holding the dull metal knife and plastic fork with great aplomb, Margaret savoured a small serve of peas. She closed her eyes as if undergoing some sort of gastronomic orgasm. She dabbed her mouth daintily with the soiled paper napkin.

Delicious, Thomas.

Thank you madam, the tin was only two years past its expiry date.

Darling, the rodent is wonderfully tender, stringy of course, but one expects that, very similar to squirrel in that regard.

Thomas smiled, Ah, we do aim to please, bon....

A high-pitched scream cut him off mid-sentence. Like bats locating their prey with echo location, Gareth and Margaret half turned towards the direction of the scream.

A bouncing beam of circular light shone out from the vicinity of the scream. A half illuminated figure ran stumbling from behind the side wall of the restaurant. Gareth and Margaret recognised the fleeing figure as the scavenger. Following closely behind the figure were a group of kitchen staff, including a woman carrying the very rare and valuable flashlight.

Leading the pack was Lim, looking all legs and arms, followed by the woman carrying the flashlight. She appeared middle-aged and slightly overweight, which in itself was unusual in these particular times. The most notable thing about the woman was the bloodied apron she was wearing. She looked like a maniacal butcher.

Thomas appeared totally unruffled. I apologise for the disturbance, sir, madam. Please excuse me.

Without any further talk, Thomas bounded off to give aid to his fellow co-worker. Gareth and Margaret looked on in a kind of morbid fascination. Their rats had begun to grow cold.

The scavenger had managed to keep ahead of the restaurant staff until a misplaced step onto a loose boulder sent the figure stumbling forward and losing momentum. Like a skeletal rugby player, Lim made a flying tackle and brought the scavenger crashing down to the ground. With a desperation borne of fear, the figure tried kicking out at Lim, who had a firm grip on her ankles. The hood had fallen away from the scavenger’s face revealing her to be a young woman. She tried to squirm free, trying desperately to shake Lim off and gain some leverage. It was too late. Thomas had reached her and was holding her arms, completely immobilizing her. The rest of the staff surrounded her. They were all carrying various kitchen implements, from a skillet to a rusty cleaver.

Without a clear view of the proceedings they returned to their meals. The screams pierced the still night like a knife. Margaret mentally cursed the woman for her inconsideration by screaming whilst decent people were trying to enjoy their meal. Gareth couldn’t resist turning towards the scavenger just in time to see one of the staff members bring down a large boulder on top of her head.

"I say dear, we really must come back now that’s on the menu," he said, using his knife to point in the direction of the scavenger.

The staff had broken rank and were milling about the still twitching form of the woman.

I quite fancy kidneys, haven’t had those since we ate your mother.

Margaret paused, bringing her forkful of rat to her mouth. Dear mummy, she reflected affectionately.

The couple continued their meal, looking out at the ruins of Big Ben and Parliament House. The night was silent once more, save for the dull thud of the cleaver as its wielder began hacking off the limbs of the scavenger.

No wonder Heavenly had earned a four-star rating.

A PSYCHOPATH’S LOVE POEM

GLITTER, GLIMMER LITTLE knife,

As I caress you

Under pale moonlight.

When or where will you take a life?

Will you kill them quickly,

My little knife?

Or bleed them slowly,

As they fade from life.

Shall we hunt them

In our usual place?

Or find somewhere thrilling

That isn’t quite safe.

Shall we take them to a warehouse bleak?

Then bind them

And gag them,

So they cannot speak.

As I sit and polish your blade,

I reminisce on those we’ve slayed,

The angry, the greedy,

And the dear depraved.

What fun we have,

Just