Seven Very Scary Stories

By Clinton A. Seeber

“Seven Very Scary Stories” is a small compilation of all seven of my heretofore published short stories. They include “My Rachel”, “The Damnable Gift” and all five parts of my “Egyptos” series. I hope that you enjoy reading them. In the future, I look forward to possibly writing more “Egyptos” stories and other strange, weird and spooky short tales. Reading and writing are my passion after all - specifically in the realms of epic fantasy and strange horror/weird fiction. I want to scare you!

• Language: English
• Publisher: Clinton A. Seeber
• Release date: Feb 28, 2016
• ISBN: 9781310401275

Clinton A. Seeber

I am a mystery. I am an enigma. Currently, I am like unto an evanescent wisp of vapor. What exactly am I? I have not yet become what I shall be. Only time will tell.

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Seven Very Scary Stories

by Clinton A. Seeber

Published at Smashwords by Clinton A. Seeber

Copyright 2013-2016 by Clinton A. Seeber. All Rights Reserved

Dear Reader:

Seven Very Scary Stories is a small compilation of all seven of my heretofore published short stories. They include My Rachel, The Damnable Gift and all five parts of my Egyptos series. I hope that you enjoy reading them. In the future, I look forward to possibly writing more Egyptos stories and other strange, weird and spooky short tales. Reading and writing are my passion after all - specifically in the realms of epic fantasy and strange horror/weird fiction. I want to scare you!

Table of Contents:

My Rachel

The Damnable Gift

The Cankerworm of Memphis

Great Horomitus of the Nile

The Wretched Benben

The Teller of Time

The Crystal Temple

My Rachel

Let me tell you about Rachel Wilson. I will speak to you of my love Rachel- beautiful Rachel. She isn't near as beautiful as she used to be, but I have come to realize that much of that is my own fault. Nevertheless, Rachel was, is, mine.

In order to tell you about Rachel, I must also tell you about myself. I have a sawed-off, bloated body; I've always been short and fat. I have a ghastly pasty white pallor- imagine the graveyard keeper of your nightmares, with eyes like coals and thick hair like soot, features so grotesque that you figure I must be a caricature, an actor behind a mask. But this is the real me- a quiet introverted creep with an uneasy appearance.

Rachel didn't look anything like me, unless you count a common racial heritage of white European ancestry. She was tall and beanpole thin, like a runway model. Oh how often I would dream of her lithe five-foot-eight-inch frame entwined with my egg-shaped five-foot-three-inch body before I would think about how fucking ridiculous the very thought was. But oh those perfectly shaped orbs of bluest blue, those wavy light-brown tresses, that long, thin nose, angelic cheekbones, and that smooth and delicate ruddy-white skin that was like rubies set in ivory!

Of course drastic physical differences were not our only differences. I remember how outgoing and talkative she used to be, how she perpetually smiled and how she lighted up any room, bringing joy and delight to those around her. I was always too nervous to talk to her, though we were college mates.

I did finally meet her. I got invited to some crappy Halloween costume ball. Of course I went, because, well- shit! I never get invited to anything. It was at the student center on campus.

I just wore a black suit; I don't need a mask. I mean it couldn't have been any uglier and scarier than my natural face. When idiotic revelers dressed in their ridiculous zombie, vampire and devil costumes that were supposed to be scary inquired of me, I just smiled mockingly and told them that I was a funeral home director for Halloween. I was just there for the free food and drink anyway, not to talk to those fools.

I can't remember how much wine I had before I noticed that it was lovely Rachel Wilson standing alone at what was almost exactly the center of the ballroom floor, but I know I was certainly spirited. The large room was dark, and long, lean Rachel was standing beneath that big ol' stupid crystal ball looking thing that was suspended from the high ceiling, spinning around and flashing streaks of purple light through the otherwise darkened room as somekind of lyricless techno horror music filled the room.

As best as I could tell, she was dressed as Scarlett-fucking-O'Hara. She was wearing that ridiculously huge straw hat like the aforementioned novel and movie character often had; you know, the one that looks kind of like a large lampshade? Her tresses were bunned-up, and pig tails hung past her cheeks. She wore a shoulderless, ruffled dress of baby blue that was ankle length and caused her to exude soft, soothing feminality. Her open-toe shoes, which had at least four inch heels underneath them, were a perfect match for the dress and revealed the exquisite toes of her stocking feet. She sure looked better than the sow that played that character in the movie something like sixty-something years ago; that was the most god-awful movie ever made, though the book was pretty good.

The scene at that moment was mind-numbingly surreal as I moved from my corner near one of the large steel tables toward her. The music, the revolving streams of purple light and the throngs of people, along with their voices, all blurred together into a haze of sight and sound in that sudden, perfect, unexplainable moment. A wide path suddenly opened for me in the large darkened ballroom, heading straight toward Rachel, despite the hundreds in attendance. I felt like Moses walking before the Israelites as the Red Sea parted. Not that I have ever believed in religious tales that are too nonsensical to be accepted as reality, but the Holy Bible is a decent work of epic fantasy fiction from thousands of years before Tolkien ever wrote. Hell, I can't even separate Jesus Christ from Gandalf.

Rachel stood there before me like a palm tree. I looked up from her twin hill breasts, which greeted my benighted eyes as I stopped before her, turning my head up to see the gem-encrusted ivory tower that was her neck. I continued my ascent until I saw above me two azure gemstones peering directly down at me from the heavens.

Well, hi there, sweetie. fire opal lips smiled at me.

I thought to myself that she too was drunk. Her eyes were glazed over, and her speech was slurred. There was also the fact that she called me sweetie; sweet is one thing that I ain't.

I tried hard, forcing myself to return her smile. It was a toothy, lip-biting one, and I must have looked like a hyena.

Are you enjoying yourself, my pet? she asked.

The cutesy names were a little