Tales of Horror

By B.D. Knight

These tales of terror are a collection of some of the most popular scary stories I’ve published. The books sell individually for $2.99 each but you get them all packed into a single book. Quite a bargain. Read them late at night before going to bed.

The Thirteenth Stroke is my latest and I love this one. The suspense becomes unbearable. What if a clock struck thirteen? I would recommend you never buy a clock with a skeleton made of human bones on the piece. 

The Curse is my take on the ever scary Monkey’s Paw. If you are ever given the chance to make three wishes, you might want to pass. You’ll be on the edge of your chair or bed as you read the terrifying ending.

Forbidden Road was inspired when my grandson and I were out fishing. We passed a scary looking road and started joking. I called it Forbidden Road and this story was born. Once again the horror is revved up at the end. You won’t believe the ending.

Robert the Doll is scary. When you read tales of dolls that are seemingly alive, there’s something devious in them. We all have dolls somewhere in the house. This story was inspired by a supposedly true story.

The Rash will make you leery of what you touch in the woods. Like Forbidden Road, fishing is the setting for the story.

Creepy House is a psychological thriller. We find a woman alone in an old house during a thunderstorm with an escaped mental patient on the loose. This story has turned out to be my most popular horror story.

Hickory Dickory Dock A twist to the children’s poem that will give you the creeps.

• Language: English
• Publisher: B.D. Knight
• Release date: Jul 12, 2016
• ISBN: 9781533787705

B.D. Knight

I write books for middle grade and young adults. They range from scary to spun fairy tales and more.  Most of the stories, including the scary ones, are basically fantasy tales. YOu need to have an open mind when you read them. :-) That's one of the reasons I enjoy writing for the younger audience. I really think it's also why many adults are reading these types of books. To escape reality.

Book preview

Tales of Horror

B.D. Knight

www.scarybedtimestories.com

Copyright © 2016 by B.D. Knight

All rights reserved worldwide.

No part of this publication may be replicated, redistributed, or given away in any form without the prior written consent of the author/publisher or the terms relayed to you herein.

These stories are fictional. Any resemblance to anyone living or dead is purely coincidental. Nothing in these stories is based on any real life happenings or any real life places. It is written for your enjoyment only.

Introduction

These tales of terror are a collection of some of the most popular scary stories I’ve published. The books sell individually for $2.99 each but you get them all packed into a single book. Quite a bargain. Read them late at night before going to bed.

The Thirteenth Stroke is my latest and I love this one. The suspense becomes unbearable. What if a clock struck thirteen? I would recommend you never buy a clock with a skeleton made of human bones on the piece.

The Curse is my take on the ever scary Monkey’s Paw. If you are ever given the chance to make three wishes, you might want to pass. You’ll be on the edge of your chair or bed as you read the terrifying ending.

Forbidden Road was inspired when my grandson and I were out fishing. We passed a scary looking road and started joking. I called it Forbidden Road and this story was born. Once again the horror is revved up at the end. You won’t believe the ending.

Robert the Doll is scary. When you read tales of dolls that are seemingly alive, there’s something devious in them. We all have dolls somewhere in the house. This story was inspired by a supposedly true story.

The Rash will make you leery of what you touch in the woods. Like Forbidden Road, fishing is the setting for the story.

Creepy House is a psychological thriller. We find a woman alone in an old house during a thunderstorm with an escaped mental patient on the loose. This story has turned out to be my most popular horror story.

Hickory Dickory Dock A twist to the children’s poem that will give you the creeps.

The Thirteenth Stroke

The man’s dead, he said. Why the urgent call Sam? It’s a police matter. It couldn’t wait until morning?

The look of terror on Sam Wilkes face told Blake Conner otherwise. Sam was a big man. He was a combat veteran of the Iraq war and had been involved in homicide for the last six years. Blake couldn’t recall him ever being afraid of anything.

Check out the body, said Sam.

I’m an author, Sam, not a coroner.

You don’t have to be a coroner. Just check him.

Blake shrugged. He kneeled down and glanced over the body.

Yep. Looks dead to me.

Don’t screw around, Blake. Touch him.

A little touchy, aren’t we?

He put his hand on the victim’s arm and moved it. He stopped. Something was wrong. The body felt weird. It took him a moment to realize what was wrong. His shoulders sagged.

This man’s body’s been drained of blood. How the hell could that be?

That’s what I’m saying, said Sam. Yet there’s no sign of blood anywhere.

We looking at maybe a vampire or something as the killer? asked Blake with a chuckle.

You’re the one who writes about this kind of shit, not me. I know you do a lot of research. Ever come across anything like this?

Blake stood. Even though his stories were fictional he liked to make them as realistic as possible. It was unreal how many so called true horror stories were out there.

Not that I remember off hand.

Sam pulled a crumbled paper from his pocket.

Read this note. I found it beside the body.

Sam handed him the wrinkled piece of paper. Scribbled on it were the words beware the clock . . . the thirteenth stroke.

That’s another reason I called you. I know you collect clocks. What do you think it means?

Sounds like the man had a broken clock.

"You’d think that except why would he write beware? You don’t find it strange?

Yeah. It’s strange. But we’re talking about a clock. Apparently it doesn’t know how to stop at twelve strokes.

Sam’s eyes still showed fear.

C’mon Sam. You don’t honestly think a clock has anything . . .

Blake was admiring out all the clocks the guy had in the house when he stopped. He noticed an antique clock sitting on the mantle. He walked over to examine it. He had a lot of clocks in his collection and had a thorough knowledge of clocks past and present but this one was different.

I’ve never seen one like this.

I noticed it too right after I read the note, said Sam. It gives me the creeps.

This clock makes you nervous?

Yeah, it does.

I can tell you one thing Sam. I’d love to own this one.

Yeah well maybe his heirs will sell it to you. I figured you’d be interested in these clocks but I was hoping maybe you’d come across something like this before.

Nope. But check this out. Look at the skeleton carving.

I see it. So what.

Feel it.

Sam lifted his eyes to the ceiling.

Just feel the skeleton bones.

Sam reached over and rubbed them and was ready to pull away when he stopped.

These feel like human bones.

I know. That’s what I’m saying. I gotta have this clock, Sam.

Like I said, you’ll have to work it out with his heirs but I recommend you forget about it. Back to the dead man. Any idea what the note means?

He probably had a clock that needed fixed. Scribbled the note so he’d remember to take it to a clocksmith.

Right. And he wrote beware the clock. Brilliant. Guess that wraps up this case.

What do you want me to say? You’re the detective.

I’m telling you, Blake. Something about –

The clock didn’t have anything to do with the guy’s death. . . although maybe I can make it the antagonist in a story.

Sam lifted his eyebrows and jerked his head. Blake shook his head and grabbed Sam’s shoulder and shook him.

Get a hold of yourself. The clock didn’t kill the man and drain his blood.

I know it doesn’t make sense but . . . when I walked in here there was a strange glow or something coming from the clock. Laugh at me if you want to but I’m telling you that clock is evil. Stay away from that clock!

2

A week later Blake went to the precinct and walked up to Sam’s desk. His desk was a cluttered mess. Papers scattered all over and candy bar wrappers looking like they were paper weights.

How do you find anything in this mess?

Hey, Blake, said Sam, extending his hand. I have a system.

Yeah. Toss everything on the desk and take a candy bar break.

They laughed as Blake sat down.

First off I wanted to see if you’ve learned anything about the guy who had his blood drained? asked Blake.

Nope. The coroner is pretty much baffled. He said he couldn’t figure out how the blood was drained. There were no puncture marks or anything.

Guess that rules out a vampire.

Sam tossed his hands in the air.

This is serious, Blake. . . You said first of all. What’s second of all?

I bought the clock from the guy’s estate.

Sam jumped up and slammed his hands on the desk.

Are you freaking kidding me? I told you that clock is evil. What part of evil don’t you understand?

Geez, Sam. Sit down. It’s a clock. A freaking clock.

I told you I saw a glow on it when I got there. Then there was the note. And this guy is laying there with no blood in his freaking body. You got to get rid of the clock.

Blake stood and looked up at the ceiling and then back at Sam.

It’s a clock. Don’t lose any sleep over it. Hey, you’re the one who called me in on this.

I know. That was a mistake on my part. I don’t know . . . well I guess I can’t do anything about that now.

Listen, I need whatever you can give me on this case.

Why? Are you planning to write a book on it?

It’s what I do, Sam. This is one hell of a theme. I mean can you imagine where I can take this?

I don’t have a clue. It’s just . . . you write all those creepy stories and you collect clocks. For some reason I was in a panic mode when I saw that glow and you were the first person to come to mind.

Blake would occasionally work with Sam, pumping him for information so he could spin a good tale.

You can call me Castle, except my stuff is horror. But I wish you looked like the detective he works with. I have dreams about her.

Sam laughed. The tension was gone. Sam was one of his closest friends and he didn’t want him pissed off at him. Besides, this really did have the makings of a good book.

Yeah well she is the kind of girl men drool over. OK, I’ll put some stuff together for you. Any idea how your story will end?

I’m a seat of my pants writer, Sam. I never know how my stories will end.

Just humor me about the clock, would you? I know what I saw. I’ve got a lot of experience in this stuff but nothing has ever made me feel eerie like this before. The clock’s evil. I know it is. So be careful.

3

Blake was excited about his new clock. He spent the evening trying to find information online that might give him a clue as to when the clock was made or anything about it but his search came up empty. He had an idea it was early nineteenth century but he’d never heard of using human bones on any clock.

He arranged it on his dresser so he could easily see it when he lay in bed. He’d go to the library in the morning. He turned off the light and turned over. Staring at the computer for hours made him tired. Hopefully he’d be able to go right to sleep.

He glanced at the clock. The moonlight filtering through the window gave the clock an ominous look. He shivered. Sam’s words must have gotten to him.

It was a quarter till twelve.

The ticking of the clock seemed a bit louder than he remembered. Probably because he was so tired. He pulled the pillow over his head. He couldn’t hear the ticks. That’s better. Now maybe . . .

Suddenly the ticking penetrated his pillow. How the hell . . . He pulled the pillow tighter to his ears. The ticking came through. He pried his face from the pillow and laid it aside. The ticking was incessant. It was penetrating the entire room.

He had to move it. Take it to another room. Get some sleep. He tried to get up. His body suddenly felt parallelized. The ticking sound grew louder and louder. He wanted to cover his ears. He tried to shut his eyes. He couldn’t close his eyelids. His eyes were fixated on the clock. It was ten minutes till midnight.

He should have listened to Sam. It was too late now. He had to move it from the room so he could sleep. He’d deal with it in the morning. Probably just a nightmare. The ticking of the clock grew louder and the pace quickened. He struggled to move but his body wouldn’t budge.

He thought about his last book. Had to get this out of his mind. This was stupid.

Damn it, Sam.

The ticks were pulsating through the room as the second hand slowly made it’s way around the clock. The minute hand crept closer to midnight.

The thirteenth stroke. He remembered the note. The dead man wasn’t writing a note to remind himself the clock needed fixed. He was writing a warning. Beware the clock . . . the thirteenth stroke.

The minute hand clicked. Three more minutes. Would there be thirteen strokes? If there was what would happen at the thirteenth stroke? The dead man’s blood had been drained. Was that the fate waiting for him?

A strange yellow glow began to permeate from the clock. It grew larger and larger. The light was unearthly. There was a figure forming. A figure of a man. He looked familiar.

Destroy the clock, said the apparition.

Blake tried to speak. He was unable to move his mouth. The figure . . . he knew it looked familiar. It was the dead man. The man with his blood drained.

You must destroy the clock, said the man.

The voice trembled and there was a sense of urgency. His eyes were opened wide and his face was locked in obvious terror.

Destroy the clock!

Blake wanted to. The ticking was unbearable. But he couldn’t move. And he couldn’t speak. It was hopeless.

You have to destroy the clock . . . before it’s too late. You . . .

The apparition began to squirm in apparent agony. It screamed. The apparition jerked back and seemed to blow up and disappear. The clock began to stroke. Blake noted the