Tome of Terror

By Doug Ward, Cassidy Raine Wolters, Jon Flushing and 5 more

There is the world that we know and the world that we don’t want to know. It’s that world that we try to ignore and try to pretend doesn’t exist. Despite these attempts, we realize that the dark truth is that it’s out there. It’s nervously whispered about. Tales of its denizens have been spoken of around fires since the earliest of times. These stories have been gathered and written into books that the faint of heart dare not open.
The Tomb of Terror is just such a book. Its pages contain fourteen of the creepiest chronicles ever put to paper about the deadly shadow world that exists within our own. Take the journey into that other realm of reality that few have the courage to walk. It begins with the first step...turn the page.

The short stories are by; Cassidy Raine Wolters, Jon Flushing, Doug Ward, Jerry Clark, B.C. Richards, Leonard Herrington, Scott Lee, April Ward

• Language: English
• Publisher: Doug Ward
• Release date: Sep 29, 2017
• ISBN: 9781370154883

Doug Ward

Doug Ward currently lives in Western Pennsylvania and is a graduate of Slippery Rock University. He has a BFA is in Fine Art and spends much of his time doing oil paintings, which incorporate mythology and science, and writing.Doug's most recent series is "The War of the Stone." It is a fantasy series that introduces his world and the mythological beings who inhabit it. The first book is called, "Lich." If you like goblins, necromancers, and mayhem in general, this series is for you.Of his first series, The True Story of the Zombie Apocalypse, Doug Ward says, "I like to write about parasitic zombies. They feel (to me) more scientifically grounded than other types. It's also pretty scary how many parasitic creatures are inside of us at this very moment. Some have even bonded with us for so long that they are actually a part of our DNA. Parasites have been known to take over their hosts. A few years ago, my wife called me from a friend's house and said that a mouse kept trying to snuggle with the cat. Actually nuzzling up to the cat's face. I quickly informed her that the mouse was infected by a parasite and that they needed to remove it from the house immediately.The parasite wanted to be eaten by the cat so it could continue its life cycle in the bowels of the unfortunate creature. This flatworm not only controls mice, but it can infect humans as well. "I have blended many scientific ideas into Parasite, which is a four book series.Saving Jebediah is a fun piece of fan fiction I wrote for a contest Mark Tufo was having. It should be read as a prequel because the characters in Saving Jebediah turn up in the 4 book series."If you want to get in touch, you can find him at https://wardswoods.wixsite.com/dougward, tweet him @authordougward, and check out his fan page at https://www.facebook.com/wardswoods/.

Book preview

Introduction

There is the world that we know and the world that we don’t want to know. It’s that world that we try to ignore and try to pretend doesn’t exist. Despite these attempts, we realize that the dark truth is that it’s out there. It’s nervously whispered about. Tales of its denizens have been spoken of around fires since the earliest of times. These stories have been gathered and written into books that the faint of heart dare not open.

The Tomb of Terror is just such a book. Its pages contain fourteen of the creepiest chronicles ever put to paper about the deadly shadow world that exists within our own. Take the journey into that other realm of reality that few have the courage to walk. It begins with the first step…turn the page.

Smashwords Edition, License Notes

This eBook is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. This eBook may not be resold or given away to other people. If you would like to share this book with another person, please purchase an additional copy for each recipient. If you’re reading this book and did not purchase it, or it was not purchased for your use only, then please return to Smashwords.com and purchase your own copy. Thank you for respecting the hard work of these authors.

This book is a work of fiction. The names, characters, places, and incidents are products of the writers’ imaginations or have been used fictitiously and are not to be construed as real. Any resemblance to persons, living or dead, actual events, locales or organizations is entirely coincidental.

Let the stories begin.

The Old Thompson Place

By Cassidy Raine Wolters

Every kid in Greenville knew to stay away from the Old Thompson Place on the hill that overlooked the graveyard at the edge of town. The house had been haunted for years, ever since Mr. Thompson took an axe to those two teenagers who kept drinking on his property. It's not that the cemetery caretaker was opposed to alcohol, he had consumed quite a bit himself in his younger days, but he told those boys time and time again not to leave their empty beer cans lying around. They didn't listen and look what happened to them.

The now decrepit house had stood vacant for years. The county had long since stopped trying to sell the place and the property had fallen into disrepair. And everybody in Greenville knew somebody who knew somebody who'd personally seen the ghosts of the two teenagers wandering the halls of the old house at night.

______

It was a typical Tuesday at Greenville Junior High. The bell rang and the students headed to their last class. Paul had watched the clock with a growing apprehension all day. It wasn't that he disliked his seventh period reading class. In fact, he secretly had a crush on Miss Benson, and his best friend Arnie was in the class. The problem was Roy Foster, the biggest bully in town. Even the kids in high school steered clear of him. He had a bad attitude, a full mustache, and far more brawn than brains. Some people claimed Roy Foster's dad beat him up every night, but the idea that anybody could hurt the muscle-bound clod seemed unlikely.

Hey, it's Paul the Pussy, Roy declared as he knocked Paul's books out of his hands in the hallway.

Don't let him get to you, Arnie said as he helped Paul pick up his books.

Easy for you to say. Roy Foster isn't out to make your life a living hell, Paul muttered as they entered the classroom and took their seats.

Miss Benson called the students to order as the bell rang. "Alright, let's pick back up with The Legend of Sleepy Hollow. We're on page thirty-two. It's Bill's turn to read a paragraph and then we'll go up and down the rows like we usually do."

Paul tried to follow along, but his attention was divided between Miss Benson's green skirt and Roy Foster's thick mustache. Besides, it wouldn't be his turn to read for awhile so his mind drifted off to his exceedingly detailed daydreams about Miss Benson. Which one would it be today? The picnic, the flat tire, or the newspaper delivery? He opted for the picnic.

A little while later Paul's mind was pulled back to reality by an argument between Miss Benson and Roy Foster.

Roy, it's your turn to read.

I ain't reading, he said flatly.

But everybody has to take a turn.

Nope, he said as he crossed his arms and shook his head.

Judging from the look on her face, Miss Benson didn't care for Roy Foster any more than Paul did.

"Well, if Sleepy Hollow is too scary for you, I guess we could make an exception, the pretty, young teacher said in a sarcastic tone that caused the class to laugh. Just this one time, though," she added with a victorious smile.

Roy's face turned red with embarrassment as he stood up. I ain't scared of nothing! he yelled as he looked around the room defiantly.

Most of the students fell silent under his withering stare, but one boy in the back whispered, Bet he's too scared go in the Old Thompson Place.

Roy's head whipped around, searching for his accuser. I tell you, I ain't scared of nothing! he yelled.

Calm down, Roy, Miss Benson said. If you're not scared of anything, maybe you could go out to the Old Thompson Place sometime, she added with a gleam in her eye.

I'll go out there tonight. I'll even wait 'til it's dark.

How will we know for sure that you went? one of the kids asked.

I'll take Dewey with me, Roy said as he motioned to one of his buddies.

I don't want to go! his friend protested. My cousin said his neighbor saw the ghosts of those two boys Mr. Thompson hacked into pieces with his axe.

Shut up, Dewey! Roy said. We're going. Tonight. As soon as it gets dark. He turned his eyes to Miss Benson and glared as the bell rang.

As the students filed out of class and headed to their lockers Roy Foster knocked Paul's books out of his hands again. Paul the Pussy! he yelled as he ran down the hallway.

That's it. I've had enough of him, Paul said through clenched teeth as he picked his books up.

Aww, you're just sore because he gave Miss Benson a hard time, Arnie said. Everybody knows you have a crush on her.

Do not.

Do so. You know she's going out with Coach Henderson. If he finds out Roy Foster's been giving her a hard time, he'll get the whole varsity football team after him.

That's just a rumor she's going out with Coach Henderson, Paul said. But listen, I'm serious about Roy Foster.

What are you going to do?

What are WE going to do, Paul corrected his friend. We're gonna go out to the Old Thompson Place tonight. And when Roy Foster shows up…

______

The setting sun was in their eyes as Paul and Arnie pedaled their bikes to the edge of town. The Old Thompson Place looked more foreboding than ever, there on the hill overlooking the run down cemetery. The boys hid their bikes and cautiously approached the house, each carrying a gym bag.

We'll sneak in through one of the broken windows, unlock the front door, and leave it open a crack, Paul explained as he unzipped his bag and pulled out a flashlight.

I don't think I wanna do this, Arnie said apprehensively.

Come on! Paul commanded as he turned on the flashlight and stepped through an empty window frame.

When did you get so brave? Arnie asked, but Paul had already started daydreaming about helping Miss Benson with a flat tire and he never even heard his friend's question.

______

The boys took their positions at the top of the stairs, near a window that looked out over the cemetery to the road below.

My mom's gonna kill me when she finds out I cut holes in these, Arnie said as he pulled a pair of bed sheets out of his gym bag.

You know Dewey will never come in the house, Paul said as he gazed out the window.

He has to or else Roy will beat him up, Arnie insisted.

I'll bet you five bucks he chickens out. He's scared of Roy, but he's more scared of this old house.

I don't blame him, Arnie whispered as he glanced around.

Look, there they are, Paul said as he pointed out the window towards two figures approaching on foot through the dusk. See, I told you Dewey wouldn't stick it out, he added when one of the figures turned and ran away.

You already owe me five bucks for our bet about the girls' bathroom! Arnie protested.

Fair enough. We'll call it even, but be quiet. Roy's on his way up the hill. Let's go over the plan one more time.

______

Roy Foster picked his way through the dilapidated cemetery by the light of a full moon that was just peaking over the horizon. He was thinking of Dewey, who was going to get a beating for running out on him, and that stuck up bitch, Miss Benson. He couldn't wait to see the look on her face tomorrow in seventh period when he told the class he'd gone inside the Old Thompson Place at night.

He'd planned on going in through one of the broken windows, but he noticed the front door stood open a crack. Easy enough. Walk in, walk out. Head back home. Well, maybe not back home right away. He'd wait a few hours. Give his old man time enough to pass out from drinking too much.

He pushed the door and it opened with a loud creak. He hesitated for a moment before he stepped inside. There was just enough moonlight shining through the broken windows and the open door to give him a vague sense of the items in the room. There was a table near the middle, a chair in the corner, and a set of steps towards the back.

A noise made him freeze in his tracks. What was that? It sounded like chains rattling. The hairs on the back of his neck stood up as a low moan, like the sound of an injured animal, filled the air. There was some light at the top of the stops, and what Roy Foster, class bully, saw made him scream like a little girl as he ran out the door of the Old Thompson Place. A series of loud bangs made him sprint even faster as he raced through the neglected cemetery and down the road back towards town.

Paul and Arnie couldn't contain themselves.

Did you hear him scream! Paul yelled.

Those firecrackers were loud enough to wake the dead, Arnie said.

This is the greatest day of my life, Paul declared. I can't wait to see Roy in school tomorrow.

The boys continued to laugh as tears streamed down their face.

But their moment of triumph soon passed as two shimmering ghosts appeared before their eyes, the real poltergeists of two teenage boys hacked to death with an axe years ago by Mr. Thompson for leaving their empty beer cans in the cemetery.

THE DINER

By Scott Lee

The yellow Jeep Wrangler glided down the rural West Virginia back road, the hum of the large off road tires singing loudly within the cab. Inside, the two girls smiled as the wind blew through their hair, having taken the fabric top off of the vehicle hours before when the sun finally broke through the clouds, allowing the temperature to climb to a balmy 78 degrees.

As the Jeep continued to navigate the winding road, the driver, a beautiful young brunette of 26 years, turned and laughed at her blonde haired friend who was waving her hands above the windshield in a gleeful fashion.

I just love camping, said the brunette happily.

Me too! replied her friend, still waving her hands through the warm country air.

You know what I like most about camping out? asked the brunette.

No, what?

Cooking out over the campfire, answered the dark haired girl.

The blonde looked at her friend and smiled.

I love the sounds of nature you hear at night, replied the pretty blonde. No horns honking. No people yelling. Just the quiet sounds of nature, she finished.

Her companion just smiled as she looked back to the road.

We definitely need to do this more often, she said.

Totally agree, replied the blonde.

For the next five miles, the girls rode along in silence, simply enjoying the sights of rural West Virginia, soaking up the scenery like a sponge. Rounding a large bend, the road straightened out, and in the distance the two girls could see a building on the left side of the road. As they got closer, they could see it was an old diner, with a handful a beat-up cars and two pickup trucks in the dirt parking lot.

As the two got closer, they could see an old sign hanging from a rusted metal pole near the road. In weathered red letters were the words - PEACOCK DINER

Exchanging curious glances, the brunette guided the Jeep onto the dirt next to one of the cars and shut off the engine.

You hungry, June? asked the brunette.

I could take a look at the menu, she replied.

Climbing from the Jeep, the two girls made their way across the parking lot to the front door. Both were clad in similar outfits, each wearing cargo style shorts, tank tops, and hiking boots. Together, the two stunning beauties were enough to turn any mans head.

Reaching the door, June grabbed the handle and pulled it open, the decades old bell jingling loudly in the process.

After you, April, she smiled.

Why thank you, laughed the brunette.

Walking inside, the two paused after a only a few steps. To either side of the door were a series of booths that ran along the grimy, dirt covered windows, and in front of them was a long counter with the old school rounded bar stool seats running the length of it. Sitting on three of the seats were men. And all three were now staring at the girls.

Glancing at June, April motioned to her right.

Um . . . let's grab a booth, she whispered.

Moving to the furthest booth, the two girls brushed away the crumbs on the benches. The seats, like the stools at the counter, showed the signs of age, their faded, time worn vinyl revealing countless cracks and tears, only a few of which had been patched with duct tape.

Sliding into the seats, the girls looked around for a waitress. A moment later, a portly old woman around 60 years old emerged from the back kitchen area. Spying the young newcomers, she grabbed a few grease-covered menus and slowly hobbled over to the booth. Dropping