Demented Fairy Tales Volume 1: Rays and Metal Marmalade: Demented Fairy Tales, #1

By Kate Findley

The home that kills…

In Rays, an apartment building is held hostage by evil white rays that prey on unsuspecting tenants. Trapped in a time warp, the manager watches helplessly as the rays unleash their wrath. In Metal Marmalade, a teenage girl is tormented by the cries of her best friend, who has been kidnapped by flesh-eating cyborgs. Can Tina’s synesthesia help her complete this perilous quest?

Both short stories offer a sinister spin on Hansel and Gretel.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Kate Findley
• Release date: Jun 10, 2017
• ISBN: 9781386577331

Kate Findley

Kate Findley's works are a blend of horror, sci-fi, slipstream, and magical realism, with humor thrown in. She is particularly drawn to themes of mind control and magic portals. Her works are often non-linear and feature multiple narrators. Although her writing does not appeal exclusively to young adult readers, her stories frequently feature teen and tween protagonists as this phase conjures up potent memories. Plus from her years as a teacher, she's gotten to know this age group quite well! Born and raised in a tiny town on the Texas coast, Kate always wanted to live in a big city and naturally moved to Los Angeles at the first opportunity. Her hobbies include tennis, hiking, and kickboxing. In her other life she works as a freelance copywriter, specializing in the personal development market. To learn more about her copywriting services and check out her writing tips, visit www.wordarcs.com.

Book preview

Rays

––––––––

The cat in the kitchen has regal jowls and yellow slits for eyes. Stringy fur hangs from his chin like a beard. He sits on the fridge, basking under the greenish glow of the dome light. The cat stares out the window. Down below is the parking lot, surrounded by barbed wire. Shards of glass wink in the moonlight, emitting white rays that kill on impact.

***

Why the barbed wire? asks Kelly. I thought this was supposed to be a nice area. 

Just an extra precaution, ma’am, says Mr. Leinhart, the elderly owner with a wispy neck, pipe-cleaner mustache and translucent eyes. Burglaries can happen in the safest of places.

I suppose so. 

Now, I know this place seems rather small, says Mr. Leinhart, leading her through the kitchen. But let me assure you, the plentitude of storage space will work wonders for you.

As if to demonstrate this point, a cabinet door creeks open. Dozens more cabinets fan out of the walls. 

I’ll finally have somewhere to put all my mail, says Kelly, trying to be accommodating.  A sound emerges from one of the cabinets, like dry leaves rustling.

What was that?

Nothing at all, ma’am, says Mr. Leinhart, ushering her into the living room. Milky shadows slink across the furniture. The room has a cocoonish feel.

It’s cozy, says Kelly, testing out the couch. 

You could fall asleep for years, couldn’t you?

I suppose so, says Kelly. Like, what is it called?  Rip Van Winkle?

Many tenants have mentioned that, says Mr. Leinhart. You could say this building has a timeless quality.

***

Vicky struts through the doorway, swaying her hips from side-to-side. She flings her high-heels, as he had instructed her to do. Steven or Philip or whoever. He lies on the bed, two hairs sprouting from his glistening pink chest, which resembles a slab of bologna. If Budweiser really wants you to drink responsibly, they should show him in their ads, she thinks.

Her cramped apartment does not allow for much runway room. She bangs into the coffee table and nearly trips over a book.

Do you want Vicky the Vixen, or something more vanilla? she asks blandly. 

Geez Louise, he says, don’t rape me in your eagerness.

She rubs her temple, trying to slow the wave of nausea.

I think you need some fresh air, he says, throwing open the window. The shattered glass in the parking lot shoots white rays into the room.

Ouch! says Vicky, clutching her head, sinking to the floor.

What’s wrong? he asks. 

Blood springs out of Vicky’s eyes.

***

The cat creeps into the cabinet when he hears the footsteps. Through the slat he watches copper-colored water drip out the faucet.

Kelly enters the kitchen. The cat stares at her intently, at her yellow hair, her chipmunk jaw. He’s never seen a creature quite like her. She opens the fridge, rifling through the sticky drawers until her hand emerges with a kiwi. From the drawer she removes a paring knife.

The cat watches as a fly crawls up his cheek. He’s restless to get out and explore, but he can’t abandon his post.

Kelly sits at the table, carefully clutching the knife. She hears a sound from one of the cabinets, like fish bones crunching under boots. She glances up. When she looks down