Dark Matter: Short Stories & Poems

By Rose Perez

Sometimes it happens even to the best of us – starting out as a faint black smudge on your floor then spreading into something insidious and gelatinous. You get on your hands and knees to scrape it off, but this mysterious substance somehow adheres to your skin. Washing and scrubbing won’t help as it oozes into your pores; attacking and controlling your mind. You hear whispers, feel hands roving your body, and see apparitions. Dark Matter has taken control, and there’s nothing you can do about it. Your eyes will want to absorb some of the most horrifying stories and poems ever written. Dark Matter demands it!

• Language: English
• Publisher: Rose Perez
• Release date: Feb 21, 2016
• ISBN: 9781311611758

Rose Perez

Rose Perez was raised in Chicago, Illinois and currently resides in the beautiful state of Washington. Her family, friends, and writing are her passions.

Book preview

Dark Matter: Short Stories & Poems

Published by Rose Perez at Smashwords.

Copyright 2016 Rose Perez

Have you ever been woken up by a thud in the night?

The creaky stairs that remain quiet during the day but screech when the witching hour is upon us…the whispers in the hallway when no one is there…the cat hissing at something only she can see.

It’s as if the darkness invites the shadows that hide during the day and gives them a chance to frolic when the sun goes down; especially when you're tucked in for the night, and nobody would hear you scream.

Where exactly are those noises coming from?

Are the phantoms evil or are they quite benevolent? Through a few chilling stories and poetry, you'll meet specters, ghosts and other monsters who reign as kings during twilight. If they sound familiar to you, better check the closets and under your beds –- you may have some unwanted visitors prowling in the dark.

I've also invited a special guest author, FlyTrapMan, to share four grisly tales you'll relish toward the latter part of this book.

Unforgivable

She stared at the grave.

"An animal must have gotten into it.

Yet, anyone examining the dirt tracks, could easily detect that they led away from the grave and not the other way around. A shiver coursed through her, and the baby kicked heartily. Rubbing her belly, she tried focusing on other things. Franklin would be home soon. It was time to get supper ready. Waddling towards the house, her name was called. She turned and caught a faint whiff of decay and wet earth.

Calm down, Judith.

She took a deep breath. This wild imagination must be taking advantage of her lack of sleep. In the kitchen, Judith began scrubbing potatoes. The hearth in the fire wasn’t hot enough so more firewood was added. While spooning the potatoes into the broth, she heard a scratching at the door. Perhaps Franklin was laden with game and couldn't open it. She pulled at the handle and screamed.

The metal was scorching hot, and having stepped back, she was astounded to find herself still at the hearth. She hadn't grabbed the door's handle; it was the pot that was grasped. Her hand was swollen, and blisters were already forming. Cursing, she submerged her hand into a bowl of cold water.

I'm the luckiest son of a bitch, Jacob would say as he disrobed her. For almost a year, they had sex at least twice a day.

Any day now, he would promise her, sweating and panting. We'll make a baby, you’ll see.

She pulled her hand from the bowl. The blisters weren't as pronounced and throbbing, but the redness reminded her of a lobster she once ate in Maine when she had attended her cousin's wedding. She wrinkled her nose; remembering the stringy and smelly meat that nearly made her gag.

Well, you are thinking for two now, Franklin would’ve remarked, rubbing her back and shaking his head.

She stared out the window; scanning for any sign of Franklin. It would get dark soon, and he knew how she hated to be alone at night. The trees to the left bordered Jacob’s grave. Why was he buried so close to the house? True, it saved her some well needed cash at the time. After all, he had died practically penniless. The cost of a proper burial, in the town’s cemetery, was out of the question. Her mouth compressed into an angry line, and she lightly tapped her forehead against the glass.

Stupid, stupid girl, she scolded herself."

Why was Jacob Mannford, the lying snake, ever trusted?

The pot boiled and as she turned to attend to it, her shoe landed on a soft patch on the hardwood floor. A muffled scream escaped her. There was a muddy foot print, and as she pulled away, maggots squirmed, peeking out from the saturated dirt. With shaky breath, Judith grabbed the hearth shovel; scooping and scraping off the mud from the floor and underneath her shoe. Shuddering, she tossed the maggot encrusted soil into the fire. With weakened knees, she lowered herself gingerly into a chair.

Don’t think. Just take deep breaths. You’re tired and hallucinating.

Judith peered out the window; hoping to see Franklin. What was actually seen, drained the color from her face. There was a man standing in the yard, staring at the house. His plaid shirt and a big brass buckle cinching his leather belt were easily discernable. The buckle was a gift Jacob had received from