Fiends: Ten Tales of Demons: Ten Tales Fantasy & Horror Stories

By Rayne Hall, Mark Cassell, Jake Elwood and 7 more

Ten Fantasy Stories by Ten Authors. 
Of all paranormal creatures, demons are the most dangerous. Intelligent and deceitful, they are masters of disguise and crafty manipulation. They stir evil desires, exploit moral weaknesses, disguise the boundaries between right and wrong, plant convictions in the victim's mind, and persuade humans that they want the thing the demon aims to bring about. 
Every culture in the world has demons, but their shape, nature and purpose varies so much that it would be impossible to give a single definition. 
In this anthology, ten authors share their vision of demons, some drawing from their ethnic and cultural backgrounds, others inspired by observations from real life, all blended with the writers' vivid imagination. Their stories span a wide spectrum of styles – scary, funny, disturbing and thought-provoking. 


1. THIEF AND DEMON by Jake Elwood 
A gutter rat gets an offer she can't refuse. 

2. DISTURBED by Mark Cassell 
A deep-rooted evil awakens and the camping trip turns sour. 

3. NINE RINGS OF SILVER AND ONE OF BRONZE by Rayne Hall 
Time has come for Mourad to face his fear and atone for his guilt. 

4. DETRITUS AT THE CHURCH FÊTE by Heide Goody and Iain Grant 
A demon is sent to earth to disrupt the harmless pleasures of English rural life. 

5. NON-DISCLOSURE by Mitch Sebourn 
An ailing lawyer investigates a potential lawsuit involving a demon of Native American tradition. 

6. INNER DEMON by Pamela Turner 
Desperate to break his curse, a hemophobic serial killer confronts his inner demon. 

7. NEREZZA by Debbie Christiana 
In the end, who's the real demon? 

8. THE DEVIL NEVER TAKES A VACATION... AND NEITHER DO I by Douglas Kolacki 
A man whose profession is all things spiritual, ought to have known... 

9. THE TOUCH OF THE TANIWHA by Tracie McBride 
The Taniwha. Protector? Monster? Or something else entirely? The four perspectives presented in this tale may not bring you any closer to the truth. 

10. STONE CITY, OLD AS IMMEASURABLE TIME by Kelda Crich 
An ancient voice speaks across continents; a mother hears the call.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Rayne Hall Ltd
• Release date: Apr 17, 2016
• ISBN: 9781533755810

Book preview

INTRODUCTION

Of all paranormal creatures, demons are the most dangerous. Intelligent and deceitful, they are masters of disguise and crafty manipulation. They stir evil desires, exploit moral weaknesses, disguise the boundaries between right and wrong, plant convictions in the victim's mind, and persuade humans that they want the thing the demon aims to bring about.

Every culture in the world has demons, but their shape, nature and purpose varies so much that it would be impossible to give a single definition.

In this anthology, ten authors share their vision of demons, some drawing from their ethnic and cultural backgrounds, others inspired by observations from real life, all blended with the writers' vivid imagination. Their stories span a wide spectrum of styles – scary, funny, disturbing and thought-provoking.

When you read this book, think about which story reflects what you know – or think you know – about demons, and if you would recognise a demon's wiles when it is baiting you.

To preserve each author's individual writing voice, I have kept the phrases, spelling, grammar and punctuation used in their part of the world, so you will find British and American English as well as regional variants.

Enjoy!

RAYNE HALL

THIEF AND DEMON

BY JAKE ELWOOD

A gutter rat gets an offer she can't refuse.

Mina drifted through the crowd, outwardly calm, bored even, but her heart thumped heavily in her chest and she savored the thrill of fear. She didn't look directly at her target, just kept him in her peripheral vision. He was a young man with soft hands, in a silk jacket decorated with gold ribbon. He was perfect, in other words. He'd have decent stuff, and he wouldn't have the will to chase her if he spotted the dip.

She wandered closer, just another form in the crowd. No one gave her a second glance. In fact, eyes slid away from her. She was a street urchin, dirty and hungry-looking, likely to ask you for a handout if you were foolish enough to notice her.

The pocket on the right side of his jacket was buttoned shut, and the young man put a protective hand on that pocket if anyone came too close. That would be his money, then. She slid in close behind him and let her shoulder brush his jacket on the right-hand side. His hand, and his attention, went to the money pocket, and Mina's fingers dipped into the pocket on the other side.

Thief!

Her hand closed reflexively on silk even as a jolt of terror ran through her. Then she took off running through the crowd, a blue handkerchief clutched in one hand. Eyes swiveled toward her, and she nearly ran headlong into a man dashing wild-eyed through the crowd. Her heart sank as she realized she hadn't even been spotted. Some ham-fisted amateur had gotten caught, and Mina had panicked like it was her first day in the city.

It was too late now, though. A quick glance behind her showed the young man in the silk jacket starting toward her, his face angry, his eyes fixed on the handkerchief in her hand. Mina swore and shoved the handkerchief into her pocket. Then she threw herself into a gap between a couple of merchants and ran for her life.

She eeled her way through the crowd, squeezing between startled people, flinging herself into the smallest of gaps, knowing people would pull back instinctively. The man behind her had longer legs, but in this race he would be hampered by his larger size and, presumably, better manners. Mina darted and swerved her way down Market Street, then flung herself into an alley. The mark would make better time in the uncrowded gap between buildings, but her biggest threat came from public-minded citizens who might grab her in passing.

Stop! The voice was close behind her, and she ran harder, encouraged by the thud of heavy feet. She sprinted in darkness, ignoring the squish and splash as her feet came down on substances best left unexamined. Then she burst into sunlight, nearly colliding with a fat clergyman. He recoiled, disgusted, then sprang back in alarm as the man in the silk jacket came barreling after Mina.

She darted around the clergyman and threw herself into a gap between a pair of gossiping ladies. A wagon was trundling down the street, and she ducked low, scurrying under it, gaining precious seconds. She was on Ale Street, and her confidence soared as she saw the brick façade of Durnkrow's before her. Durnkrow's Tavern was one of the most climbable buildings in Hammarkand, and once she made it to the rooftops, she'd be home free.

She sprang at the wall, terror of her pursuer outweighing the terror of the climb. She swarmed upward, fingers and toes finding the gaps between the bricks, careless of her hand and footholds, rising quickly above the heads of the crowd. Then her foot, slimed by the filth of the alley, slipped from the rough brick-edge she'd stepped on. For an instant she hung by her fingers, and in that moment the man in the silk jacket reached her.

There was triumph in his face as he reached for her foot, then a flicker of disgust as he saw what was caking her bare feet. He only hesitated for a heartbeat, but that was all Mina needed. She drew her feet up out of his reach, fumbled for a moment with her toes, then surged up and onto the stone ledge that marked the second floor of Durnkrow's.

For a moment she stood there, panting and savoring her triumph. Then a shutter swung open right in front of her. She had a quick glimpse of a man wearing the blue tunic of a guardsman, the tunic half-undone and flapping around his bare white legs. There was a woman behind him, in a bed with the sheet drawn up to her chin. The guardsman had a bristling mustache and piercing blue eyes, and he smelled of alcohol and tobacco smoke and rose perfume. A grin split his face as his hand closed around Mina's wrist, and he cried, Gotcha!

The next hour was one of the worst in Mina's short life. The guardsman dragged her through the streets of Hammarkand, the man in silk trailing behind and looking self-righteous. Mina thought the ignominy of it all might be more than she could bear. Fleetfoot Mina, caught by a soft-skinned pigeon and a shovel-footed city guardsman! She felt as if every eye in the city was turned her way, reveling in her humiliation. Notoriety wouldn't exactly help her in her chosen profession, either.

She wondered what sentence she would get. A caning? A couple of weeks with a work crew cleaning the foulest of the city's streets? She would have to take care from here on. Repeat offenders faced much worse fates.

Hammarkand's informal justice system was based in the public square in the heart of the city. Half a dozen stocks decorated the open plaza, with only a drab-looking man and woman currently incarcerated. A few bits of rotten vegetable littered the paving stones around them, but no one was currently harassing them.

A small stone building in the center of the plaza housed the offices of the justice. As it was a nice sunny day, the justice was sitting outside, a ledger open before him on a small wooden table. He was a thin, desiccated man with wisps of grey hair plastered over the spotted dome of his skull. He wore the dark red robes of his station and an expression of bored disapproval.

The guardsman dragged Mina up to the table and stopped, bobbing his head respectfully. The justice raised a starched eyebrow and dipped a quill into the ink pot beside his ledger.

Caught a pickpocket, Your Gravitas, the guardsman said. Took a handkerchief from this gentleman here.

The justice nodded gravely, made a notation, and looked Mina up and down. Have I seen you before, child? he asked.

Not me, Mina said proudly. I've never been caught. Er, because I'm not a thief, Your Greatness.

Gravitas, the justice said absently. No, I think I've seen you before. Stealing from shops last time, if I recall.

Mina felt a flutter of panic. Oh, no, she said, you've got me mixed up with someone else! It weren't me-

The justice raised a hand and Mina fell silent. For a long moment the only sound was the scratching of the quill in the ledger. Then the justice looked up, and cold grey eyes weighed her, without malice and certainly without sympathy. You're a repeat offender, he said, and I don't think the cane is going to suffice.

He reached behind him to tap on the shuttered window of the stone building, and the door swung open. A pair of guardsmen appeared, their blue tunics crossed with a red sash indicating their assignment to the Office of Justice.

Thief, the justice said, gesturing at Mina. Repeat offender.

Hand? the nearest man asked.

The justice nodded. Yes, I think so. Take off her hand.

The air seemed to turn to ice around Mina. She tried to twist away from the guardsman who'd caught her, but he held her with practiced ease as the red-sashed men plodded forward and grabbed her arms. They dragged her, kicking and squirming and moaning with fear, toward the corner of the stone building.

Mina looked back over her shoulder. The man who'd caught her was disappearing into the crowd, his job complete. The other man, the pigeon, was staring at her, his face bloodless above his silk jacket. Mina caught his eye and said plaintively, It was just a handkerchief. Then the guardsmen dragged her around the corner and the man was lost to sight.

Some stubborn thread of hope kept Mina believing that something, somehow, would save her. She couldn't really be about to lose her hand! Then she saw the chopping block set up behind the stone building. It was a simple wooden stump, the top scarred and stained from use, with an axe buried in the top edge. It was a bit wider across the blade than a woodcutter's axe, but was otherwise quite ordinary. Beside the stump was a basket full of dirt. Something showed through the soil, the faintest hint of dirty pink, and Mina felt the strength go out of her legs.

Of course they wouldn't just have a stack of hands there. It would attract flies and crows, and it would smell bad. The sheer, banal practicality of the basket drove the last shreds of hope from her.

The guardsmen dragged her forward. She didn't resist. Instead her toes dragged in the dirt behind her. She was limp.

They shoved her into a kneeling position, and one man pushed her forearm onto the stump. He held her arm just below the elbow, his fingers sinking into her flesh, and Mina stared at the ground and waited for it to be over.

A moment, gentlemen, if you please.

The voice was cultured, elegant, and so completely out of place that Mina raised her head, curious in spite of her predicament. One of the strangest men she'd ever seen was standing behind the guardsmen, hands on his hips. He was dressed even more richly than the pigeon had been, with great swathes of lace spilling from the sleeves of a pale silk coat with tails that hung to his knees. His trousers were snug, emphasizing long, stork-thin legs. She couldn't actually see his shirt, just an explosion of white lace that started under his chin and cascaded down to where his jacket was buttoned just under his navel.

But it was the man inside the clothes who truly grabbed her attention. His face was unlined, but his hair was completely white. There seemed to be no color to his eyes except for a tinge of pink. His face was long and narrow, his expression solemn and fastidious, and the guardsman who wasn't holding Mina knuckled his forehead respectfully.

Is this a thief you've got here? the stranger said.

Yes, sir, said the guardsman. A pickpocket, I think. Repeat offender.

Oh, dear, the stranger said. The younger generation is a source of great disappointment.

The guardsman nodded, then reached for the handle of the axe.

However, the stranger interrupted, and the guardsman froze. Though justice be the solid foundation on which a society may be built, it is the transcendent virtue of mercy that lifts that society above the base stones of its foundation and makes it something great.

The guardsman cocked an eyebrow. Mercy, eh? I don't know about that.

She has stolen, the stranger said. The state has been harmed. The state must have its recompense, whether in blood or some other coin.

The guardsman straightened somewhat at the word 'coin,' and the stranger dipped two fingers into a pocket. He sent a coin spinning through the air, gold flashing in the sunlight, and the guardsman caught it. I don't know, he said.

I can assure you, the stranger said, she will not steal again. And another coin went spinning after the first.

I'm sure you know best, the guardsman said, and nodded to his companion. The pressure on Mina's elbow was suddenly released. She sprang up and took a single running step, but the stranger, moving faster than she would have believed possible, caught