Dark Wonders

By Mark Allan Reynolds

You are invited to enter a realm of unimaginable terror, a place of shadow and darkness, where a young boy searches desperately for his missing girlfriend who has disappeared from her grave where a Halloween trick or treater brings an old man face to face with the monsters of his youth where the new man on the job learns the secret to one truck driver's special delivery where redemption from evil comes from the most unlikeliest source where two boys discover that cemeteries are for the dead-or are they?

Let author Mark Allan Reynolds guide you through this realm of fear and dread as he delivers twenty-five bone-chilling tales guaranteed to make you squirm. These are his Dark Wonders.

• Language: English
• Publisher: iUniverse
• Release date: Jan 13, 2003
• ISBN: 9781469774091

Mark Allan Reynolds

Mark Allan Reynolds has published short fiction at HorrorNet, Frightnet, Gathering Darkness, Horrorfind, Savage Night, and many other sites across the Internet. He is currently working on his first novel and has several new stories awaiting publication. Mark lives in Louisville, Kentucky, with his wife Lisa. Visit him at www.darkwonders.com.

Book preview

All Rights Reserved © 2003 by Mark Allan Reynolds

No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, graphic, electronic, or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, taping, or by any information storage retrieval system, without the written permission of the publisher.

Writers Club Press an imprint of iUniverse, Inc.

For information address:

iUniverse, Inc.

2021 Pine Lake Road, Suite 100

Lincoln, NE 68512

www.iuniverse.com

ISBN: 0-595-26515-4

ISBN: 978-1-469-77409-1 (ebook)

Printed in the United States of America

This is for Mom and Dad. Thanks for everything throughout the years. You taught me love, kindness, and the importance of family. May I never forget those lessons.

And for Lisa. You are the love of my life. Without you I am nothing. Thank you for inspiring me each and every day.

Contents

Acknowledgements

CREEPERS

FACING FEAR

MISSIONS

PICK UP DAY

A BAD PENNY

CARVED

MAYBE TOMORROW

THE PACKAGE

A BOY & A CAN

DOWN

THE WIND, IT GROWLS

SPECIAL DELIVERY

LIKE MOTHER, LIKE DAUGHTER

HERE

FIREFLIES ETERNAL

WHEN TOUCHED BY THE DARKNESS

COLD

WHAT A DAY

NATURE’S RULES

YOU ALWAYS LOVE THE ONE YOU HURT

PASSING VENGEANCE

THE POND

ROLLED RULES

CEMETERIES ARE FOR THE DEAD

GRAVE MATTERS

Acknowledgements

Creepers was originally published online at FrightNet. Facing Fear was originally published online at For the Love of Writing Missions was originally published online at HorrorNet. Pick Up Day was originally published online at Horrorfind. Carved was originally published online at For the Love of Writing Maybe Tomorrow was originally published online at Savage Night. A Boy & A Can was originally published online at Alchemie. The Wind, It Growls was originally published online at Bad Dreams. Special Delivery was originally published online at BoneTree. Here was originally published online at For the Love of Writing Cold was originally published online at Masters of Terror. Nature’s Rules was originally published online at Gathering Darkness. Passing Vengeance was originally published online at AuthorsDen Rolled Rules was originally published online at Bad Dreams.

CREEPERS

You’re just like a big kid, Martha Stone said as her husband of thirty-six years ambled to the front door to greet the small group of children standing there.

Trick or treat! they shouted in unison.

Oooh, such great costumes! Here you go, here you go, Hank Stone chuckled as he dropped assorted candies into the children’s bags. Happy Halloween!

The children moved on to the next house in a rushed pack, leaving Hank watching after them with a grin on his wrinkled face. Halloween always left him feeling six-years-old instead of the sixty-six he was.

Getting low, Martha said.

Hank turned and saw the half empty bowl of candy bars his wife held up. His stomach gurgled and he smiled sheepishly.

If I didn’t know better, I’d think some old man has been munching on the goodies.

Who me?

They laughed and settled in, awaiting more trick or treaters.

* * *

Ding, Dong!

Hank Stone answered the front door with the tired expression of a man who was Halloweened out. The previous trick or treater had come more than an hour before and Hank thought his night of giving out candy was finished. Martha had gone to bed, her arthritis finally winning their daily battle and so he was left alone on candy duty, which was fine. He had nibbled on more than his share of candy all night and had visions of doing the same tomorrow. That was, if the trick or treaters would stop ringing the bell.

Well, well, Hank said, opening the door to a small child dressed as…well, as something spooky. Hank had never seen this costume before, but he wasn’t surprised since his knowledge of horror films was limited these days. What do we have here? he asked.

The child stood silently, holding out a bag before him or her.

Now we both know the routine, Hank smiled. You say your part, I’ll do mine.

Nothing.

Hank’s smile faltered. He was sleepy and his back ached from getting up and down from his favorite chair to play host to the children of Quiet Holler. Oh, never mind. Happy Halloween.

Hank dropped a miniature Kit-Kat in the child’s bag. The child remained motionless. Hank cleared his throat and sighed. More? There you go. Now run on. There are mostly old folk in this neighborhood and it’s getting late. If you don’t hurry, you’ll miss out.

Not waiting to see if the child heeded his warning, Hank closed the door. He was amazed at how much he envied the little ones and their trick or treating. Halloween had been his favorite holiday for as long as he cared to remember. It saddened him, however, to see how Halloween had lost most of its creepiness. So many of the ghosts, goblins, and witches these days wore smiles instead of menacing grins. Few children were afraid to roam the streets after dark (though their parents were very afraid for them for a darker reason) knowing there were no monsters hiding, waiting for them. As Hank watched the world grow less innocent over the years, he also watched Halloween lose part of its edge.

So what? It still brought a tingle to his belly and Hank felt certain that monsters roamed the dark streets; just monsters of a different breed than those he used to believe in.

* * *

Hank had just slipped into his pajamas when the doorbell rang.

Ding, Dong!

Now what? he mumbled, walking as quietly as possible down the hallway past their bedroom. He could hear Martha snoring lightly. He couldn’t help but snicker. Martha had insisted for thirty-six years that she did not snore. Hank had learned over the years it was better to agree with her on this subject. Many of nights he had fallen asleep feisty because he had teased Martha when she wasn’t in the mood to be teased. These days he was seldom feisty but he allowed Martha the dignity of knowing she didn’t snore, no matter how loud she did.

Hank flipped on the lights he had turned off less than an hour before and cautiously peered out the peephole in the front door. At first he saw nothing but the normal view of neighborhood, mainly because he hadn’t bothered to look down. When he realized this, he glanced downward and saw the child from earlier standing stone-like on the porch.

Hank pulled open the door and cursed under his breath. Some kids never knew when enough was enough. Now look here, I gave you candy when you didn’t even do your part. There’s none left—(at least not for trick or treaters his stomach growled)—so scram. Do you have any idea how late it is?

Nothing.

Okay, kid, go home. You’re starting to give me the creeps. As he said this, a forgotten memory slithered from the recesses of Hank’s brain. Something from when he was a boy. Not creeps. Creepers. That’s what his Uncle Lou had called monsters. Don’t let the Creepers get you, Uncle Lou would say as Hank dashed from the house and out into the blackness of Halloween night. Remember, Hankie, Uncle Lou would confide, Creepers disguise themselves really well. Be on the lookout. And Hank would jump at every sound as he trick or treated with his friends those long years ago. Creepers.

So that’s it. You’re a Creeper, huh? Well I stopped believing in Creepers when I started paying taxes. Washington, D.C. That’s where the world’s real monsters are. So you go on now, I’m old and tired and going to bed. Then, not wanting to, Hank disappeared from the doorway only to return with another Kit-Kat miniature. One more.

Hank heard the child’s bag rustle as he closed the door.

* * *

Somewhere in a dream, a Creeper chased Hank. The Creeper was banging on a bell loudly and insistently. With slow realization, Hank awakened to the sound of his doorbell.

Ding, Dong!

Martha stirred but did not awaken. Hank wondered how bad the arthritis had been tonight? Could it have been one of those nights when she had desperately doubled her medication? She was sure sleeping like it was. Hank planted a soft kiss on her forehead that, to this day, felt as lovely as it ever did to him on his lips. Then the doorbell blared into the darkness and reminded him why he was awake in the first place.

Hank fought his way out of bed and glanced at the clock on the nightstand as he did so. Quarter past two. His nerves perked up and all the scenes of disaster and danger that people see in their mind’s eye when someone rings the bell late at night rushed through his head, causing him to hurry the best he could to the living room.

Who’s there? he asked loudly.

No answer.

Hello? Who’s there?

Nothing.

Hank tiptoed to the peephole and this time instinct told him to look down. The child wasn’t there. Something was. Hank opened the door, confused.

You go on home or I’ll call the police! Hank threatened.

The neighborhood was quiet. Minus a soft breeze, nothing moved.

Why in the world? he asked himself quietly as he reached down and picked up the bag the child had been holding. Hank peered inside it and was unnerved to see three miniature Kit-Kats. Nothing more.

Closing the door and checking the locks three times, Hank carried the bag over to his favorite chair where he eased himself down. Hank wondered why the child had returned the candy. And why leave the bag? As he pondered these questions, his stomach growled for what had to be the hundredth time that day and Hank decided one more candy bar couldn’t hurt.

As he reached into the bag, it bit his arm. A firm, you won’t be needing this meat, clench. Hank screamed more out of shock than pain, although the pain arrived seconds later. The bag opened and closed with the force of a screen door blowing in a violent storm. Blood sprayed Hank’s living room. He tried to stand and was nearly upright when the bag took another huge bite and his legs buckled, spilling Hank to the floor. Now he shrieked, the pain crippling as the bag chewed past his elbow toward his shoulder. Hank stared horrified at the bag, not seeing the razor-sharp teeth that clamped down against his arm but feeling them all the same. The bag worked furiously, gnawing faster and faster toward his face. Oh hell, Hank thought, I’m going to die. Eaten by a grocery bag. Through the blackness of incredible pain he could hear Uncle Lou’s raspy voice, "Creepers disguise