The Retrievers: Strange Tales of the Supernatural

By Julia French

A young couple vacationing in a quaint English village who get caught up in an ancient ritual, a man who failed to fulfill a promise to his late parents, a woman who ignores the local legends in order to feed her starving family, and more, are included in this collection of eleven short supernatural horror tales.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Julia French
• Release date: Jun 19, 2018
• ISBN: 9780463532805

Julia French

Julia French was born and raised in Wisconsin and currently resides there. She loves cooking, photography, gardening, crafts, animals, and nature. As a young girl Julia was drawn to horror and the supernatural, and as a writer she enjoys showing ordinary people caught up in extraordinary situations. Julia believes people show their true selves when faced with danger, and how they react to that threat reveals who they really are. Her personal philosophy of horror is that knowledge is power, and it is better to turn and face what's coming to get you instead of letting it pounce upon your back without warning.

Book preview

The Retrievers: Strange Tales of the Supernatural

By Julia French

The Retrievers: Strange Tales of the Supernatural by Julia French

Copyright 2017, 2018 Julia French

Smashwords edition

All Rights Reserved

Cover: Dusk Til Dawn Designs

Editor: Peterson Editing Services

Photograph: J. Peterson

Other books by Julia French:

Unearthly

Eve of Darkness

Hill Magick

Paper copies of The Retrievers are available at major online retailers. Please remember to leave a review of my ebook at your favorite retailer.

License notes: This Smashwords 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 others, please purchase an additional copy for each recipient. If you are reading this book and did not purchase it or receive it as a purchased gift, please buy a paid copy. Thank you for respecting the hard work of this author.

NOTE: Doctor Anita first appeared in print in the UK family magazine Freehand in 2001.

NOTE: Salad Days first appeared in an online issue of Alienskin in 2002.

Preface

Sometimes the supernatural manifests itself by means of disembodied voices, mysterious footfalls in empty hallways, walls which drip blood, or hair–raising screams in the night. Sometimes it insinuates itself into someone's life slowly but surely, luring them step by step into the darkness. These eleven tales illustrate how weird events can lead unwary and innocent people into the unknown, to the point of no return.

Table of Contents:

Tornado Warning

Sea Harvest

Good God

Doctor Anita

The Farm

Apiary

A Sense of Belonging

A Reunion of One

Salad Days

The Retrievers

The Well

Tornado Warning

Brad hadn't thought it possible for a human being to sweat so much. The salty fluid plastered his hair to his scalp, ran down his forehead, and dripped off the end of his nose. A drop of perspiration crept into the corner of his left eye and stung like acid. He sat back on his heels and dragged the sleeve of his brand-new red flannel shirt across his flushed face. The hatchet in his other hand hung limp between his legs. The young oak tree he had been attempting to chop down showed a few whitish dents in the trunk, but was nowhere near collapse.

What was he doing chopping wood anyway? At first it had seemed like an appropriately woodsy thing to do to pass the time, but he didn't need any fire for warmth, because the early spring weather was unseasonably warm and the sleeping bag he had bought from Trailside Outfitters Superstore was filled with 90% goose down. He didn't need a cooking fire, either, for stashed among the dehydrated mixes and vacuum-sealed sauces was a bag of trail mix big enough to feed six people. He wouldn't freeze and he wouldn't starve, and he certainly didn't need to continue blistering his hands needlessly. Perhaps he would die of boredom, then, or frustration.

Brad hadn't known anything about camping when he'd left Manhattan but he'd expected to learn as he went along. So far, he had learned that his best friend Tyler, who had sworn to him that spending time in the Great Outdoors was the perfect stress reliever, must have a screw loose somewhere. Hiking a million miles out into the wilderness, toting a ton of food and water so he could avoid what Tyler euphemistically called living off the land, and praying that no wild animals would notice his presence and attack him was almost more relaxation than he could stand. If he stayed out here much longer he'd relax himself right into a nervous breakdown.

Reacting to his heartfelt emotion, his arm jerked and the hatchet flew from his clumsy grasp. The flat part of the blade smacked against the stump he had draped his jacket over, and the muted crunch of metal told him that he had just crushed his cell phone. Great. Just great. Now he was incommunicado as well as terminally bored. What else was there to do in this godforsaken wilderness besides chop wood? He could set up his tent, he supposed. There were a couple of blue nylon strings dangling from the frame of his backpack. Brad leaned over and yanked them, and a slender blue cylinder fell softly to the forest floor. The braided drawstring of the blue tent bag had somehow become knotted beyond untangling. He picked up the discarded hatchet and sawed back and forth awkwardly upon the string until the braid frayed, unraveled, and finally parted. The mouth of the bag expanded vigorously with the pressure of the escaping tent frame, and with an air of martyred patience he set the bag between his legs and eased the casing back from the mess of rods and blue nylon as if he were peeling the skin off a sausage. Once the tent was freed from its confinement its behavior conformed more closely to the salesman's assurances; one vigorous flip of a corner rod and the entire structure popped up whole, like a biscuit in an oven. Brad fished a quart bottle of Mountain Hollow spring water out of the backpack and took several long swallows. Then he slid his backpack into the tent. His preparations for the night were over, and it was only late afternoon.

The breeze that had made the sultry atmosphere bearable had died away and the woods were hazy with damp. Vaporous plumes of water-saturated air wandered among the tall brown trunks like ghosts. No leaf was stirring, and the bird and animal noises which had formed a subtle background chorus to his inexpert attempts at woodcraft had gone silent. Feeling suddenly uneasy, Brad dug the toe of his Hiker's Best boot into the loosely packed forest earth, disturbing the hard little marbles of last year's acorns. The spicy scent of composting pine needles drifted up from the gash in the soil that his foot had made.

A distant muffled crack reached his ears, and the growing tension between his shoulder blades eased. Fireworks! So he wasn't as isolated as he had imagined. He could even see small flickerings of light through the trees to the southwest if he squinted. Brad couldn't recall any holiday in late spring that called for a fireworks display, but where there were fireworks there were people, probably close enough so a hearty (read: desperate) shout would reach them, if need be.