Between the Page: A Collection of Three Short Horror Stories

By E.C. Fisher

An unusual book brings misfortune and as the tale unravels, a shadow stirs.

Deserted island. Crashed plane. Ravenous creatures… oh my.

A wrathful rainstorm obscures a terror from the past.

Inside this collection:

• Between the Pages - Only available here

• Cotton Tale

• The Rain

The Rain

"A Masterpiece Of Horror About Bullying & Revenge!" - Author JB Richards

Cotton Tale

"What happens when Gilligan's Island meets Lost? Cotton Tale happens. ...Oh and while you're at it throw some Gremlin into the mix." - Nikki White

• Language: English
• Publisher: E.C. Fisher
• Release date: Aug 31, 2018
• ISBN: 9781540100054

E.C. Fisher

E.C. Fisher is an emerging author who was born in Vandenberg, AFB, California. Currently, he happily writes and resides in Florida. From 2007 to 2011, he proudly served in the United States Marine Corps. Three years ago, he was introduced to the writing world after a bout of inspiration drove him to write his very first story. After sharing his work with several people and receiving favorable feedback, he decided to continue treading on the creative path of storytelling. When he doesn’t have a pen in hand, you can find him at the bowling alley getting strikes or at home reading fantastical books.

Book preview

Between the pages

Chapter One

The heavy downpour made it hard to see. The gold decal on the bookstore window read, Alistair’s Old and Rare Books. It was my favorite store to discover unique and uncommon books you wouldn’t generally find at a commercial bookstore.

The bell chimed, acknowledging my presence. Good evening, Mr. Douglas. The clerk, Robin, greeted me as I wandered through the front door. Robin was a youthful woman in her mid-twenties. Her brunette hair was tied back in a ponytail, her rich brown eyes shielded behind black-framed glasses.

She had been working in the store for the past few years yet we’d only had a few conservations. Due to my social anxiety, I found it tough to approach her even though I felt the tug of destiny between us. She was stunning and pleasant while I was more timid and average.

My name is Thomas Douglas. I’m twenty-eight years old and I work in the local library where I often deal the with checking in and out of books. My passion for reading was nurtured by my mother at a young age. The novels, stories, and anecdotes she read to me ignited my imagination and I’ve held the flame alive over the years since.

Good evening, Robin. Awful weather we’re experiencing, I said, shaking my umbrella and closing it up. My thick, dark hair was damp since the rainstorm was abrupt and unanticipated. I always carry an extra umbrella in my car, but I’d had to go back for it once the rainfall hit.

It’s certainly coming down. I wish I’d thought of keeping an umbrella here, Robin said, leaning over the wooden counter to gawk out the window.

The rain beat against the glass like the hammering on a tin roof. It was loud but somehow melodic.

Would you like to use mine? I didn’t park too far from the entrance. I wouldn’t want you to get soaked. Droplets of water dripped from my hair and into my emerald eyes. I dried them away with the sleeve of my trench coat.

Are you sure? I don’t want to put you out, Mr. Douglas. Her tone was heartfelt, her eyes lightened with worry.

Don’t let it bother you for a moment. Please, I insist. I handed her the umbrella.

She accepted it graciously. Thank you. I’ll be sure to return it to you the next time you visit. I’d like to repay you somehow.

I thought for a moment and jokingly replied, How about coffee later?

I froze the instant the words left my mouth. The familiar pang of anxiety crept up my spine but was short-lived. I stood in awe as her face lit up and blushed crimson underneath her cheeks.

Robin stammered over her words as she uttered, I-I would like that very much.

She embraced the wet umbrella and the water transferred to her smock. She embarrassingly set it on the counter and snatched a cloth from underneath. Her flushed cheeks deepened another shade of red as she dried herself off.

I smiled sheepishly. Okay. Let me took a look around a bit and then we can discuss when and where, I replied before walking behind a row of shelves.

We’ve received a new shipment of books, near the rear shelves. You might uncover something valuable back there, Robin yelled out as she continued to rub her smock dry.

Thanks. I’ll have a look.

The prospect of discovering a new and rare book got my heart racing. I practically pranced to the rear of the store to the beat of my quickening pulse.

Alistair’s Old and Rare Books had been around for the last fifty years. The proprietor, Alistair O’Neil, was an explorer who traveled the world, hunting and locating lost tomes and manuscripts to add to his continually widening collection. All the walls and first floor were crammed with books. The second floor had a lounge space for patrons to take a moment and browse through a book before deciding on a purchase.

The rear of the store was bordered with shelves that stopped before the corridor that lead to the backroom storage space. Sitting beside the corridor was a modest wooden stand with a crate full of antique books. My curiosity tingled as I neared the crate. I was elated at the prospect that awaited me.

I scoured until I was midway through and encountered an ancient, worn out notebook that looked like it was covered in some sort of hide. Golden script along the side read, Life, Between the Pages. The pages themselves were composed of a paper I wasn’t familiar with.

I’ve never seen a book like this. This paper is … well, close to sheepskin but the texture is strange. I held it up to my nose and inhaled. There’s a strong smell of oils and … blood! Was this made from some animal perhaps? I’d felt the texture before but I was having a hard time placing where. The thought quickly left me as I flipped it open.

The first few pages were blank. This surprised me. I figured since the book was unusual, it would be filled with interesting text. No author, publication information, no content, or anything else printed on or within, except the title. Strange. I fanned through it, discovering the rest of the pages were blank, too.

My curiosity was definitely piqued. Old books with blank pages are strange things indeed, but something was different about this one. I just wasn’t sure how, or what, made it different. My gut was telling me to leave it alone but I couldn’t resist the temptation to bring it home with me. It was more a bad vibe than anything. My curiosity won out in the end.

This isn’t a book. A journal, maybe? I ran my finger along the edge of the pages, cutting it. Ouch! The sting was instant and I instinctively stuck my finger in my mouth. I took it out and examined it. No blood. Still, that hurt.

I inspected the book to make sure I hadn’t bled on any of its pages but there was no sign of blood. A grateful sigh escaped my lips and I took the enigmatic book back up front to ask Robin about it.

Robin, I found this mixed in with the books in the back. I assume it’s a journal.

I set it down on the counter for her to see.

Oh! This is quite the book. I’ve never seen anything like it. Mr. O’Neil may know more about it. Unfortunately, he’s out on another expedition at the moment. He isn’t scheduled to be back for another week. What would you like to do?

Is it for sale?

If it’s in the store, I’d assume so. Did this one capture your interest?

Yes! Everything about it has me curious. As the words left my mouth, the store phone rang.

Alistair’s Old and Rare Books. This is Robin. How may I assist you today? she answered with a smile.

Ah, Robin. It’s me. Alistair. I see you’re minding the store properly. I was able to hear the voice on the other end of the line. Mr. O’Neil was a loud and proud individual.

Yes, Mr. O’Neil. You won’t find me slacking. Oh, I’m with a customer who’s interested in a book. He found it amongst a group of them in the back. Do you know anything about it?

Hmm. Does it have a dark leathery cover by chance?

Yes, sir.

That one’s had my interest as well. Actually, it’s why I’m calling. I’ll be away doing some research on it.

Well, he’s interesting in purchasing it. Should I hold off?

Dear me, no! Let him have it. I’ve already marked it for sale. I’ll be sure to share anything I find out about it with him. Make sure we’ve got his contact information. Take care of the store for me a little while longer, my dear.

Certainly, Mr. O’Neil. Pleasant travels. She hung up the phone, sharing a bright smile.

Good news, I hope, I replied, returning her smile.

That was Mr. O’Neil. He’s going to be out a little longer but said I could sell you the book. Also, he’s currently doing some research on it and will let you know if he finds anything out about it when he returns.

Sounds great.

Okay. I’ll ring it up for you. She scanned the barcode. Your total is five hundred fifty-two dollars and seventy-six cents.

Wow! A little pricier than I would’ve expected. I fumbled for my wallet and removed my credit card, handing it over.

Mr. O’Neil has a feel for such matters. He wouldn’t appraise a book without considering everything about it. She slid my card and finished my purchase by placing the book in a black plastic bag along with the receipt. Here you go, Mr. Douglas.

You can call me Thomas, Robin, I said, softly taking the bag from her slender fingers.

All right, Thomas. Her cheeks turned a rosy red as she nervously adjusted her glasses.

About our coffee date … how does around the corner at Tilly’s Bakery and Tea sound? We can make it three days from now. On Saturday.

I love that place. Does eleven work for you?

Sounds terrific!

We exchanged telephone numbers and I smiled as she fumbled while entering mine in her cell phone.

I’ll see you then, I said, walking to the front door.

The sound of the rain battering against the window was louder than ever. I peeked outside, unable to see neither my car nor the pavement outside.

See you then. Please take care on your way home, she replied with a wave of her hand while clinging to her phone tight to her breast with the other.

I returned her gesture before departing the store and rushing through the rainstorm, shoving the plastic bag under my trench coat as I slushed through the ankle-high waters.

I’d better not catch a cold because of this stupid rain, I howled to the heavens. I’ve finally won a date with my dream girl! Fate better not be cruel.

I found my car and opened the door, dashing awkwardly inside. My trench coat was soaked and heavy from the rain. I placed the plastic bag on the seat beside me before I lowered my head, letting my forehead rest on the steering wheel.

I’m praying for a sunny day Saturday. Is that too much to ask?

Peering up at the sky through the windshield for verification, nothing but more rain answered my plea. A bolt of zig-zagging lightning flashed across the sky, followed by a roar of thunder that shook the windows of my car.

Yeah! I wasn’t expecting a miracle, I answered before twisting the ignition and speeding away.

Chapter Two

After an hour of traveling in the heavy rain, I arrived at my two-story townhouse. The rows of houses were all composed of brick with black iron fences and gates leading to stone steps to the front doors. My door was colored a rosy crimson which stood out compared to the others around it, but the lights were in at the other homes while mine stood gloomy and uninhabited. I parked in my assigned spot just in front of my door. As I was preparing to exit my car, the rain abated.

"Oh. So now it chooses to let up." I seized the bag and headed inside.

After unlocking the front door and flipping on the light switch for the foyer, I hastily took out the book, discarding the plastic bag. I locked the door before making my way through the hallway to the living room.

My living area was scant. I had the required necessities: a couch, a table, some chairs, and a large bookshelf full of antique and uncommon books I’d collected throughout the years. It was my little slice of paradise. Well, more my liberation from reality. The imaginary worlds created between the pages kept me from being too somber.

After turning on the lamp that rested beside the couch and brightening the room, I set the book on the glass table before heading into the cramped kitchen to make a mug of hot chocolate. I set the microwave to two minutes before heading upstairs to my room to grab a towel and dry my clothes.

My bedroom was just as scanty as my living room; a full-size bed, wooden dresser, nightstand. Against the far corner of the wall was another bookshelf nuzzled next to the alcove. I’ve always been a clean and tidy person; my bed was made and my laundry where it belongs.

I went into the attached bathroom and without flipping the switch, opened the cabinet, and snatched a fresh beige towel. I patted myself down to dry off my face, hair, and hands, then tossed the towel on the bed before strolling over to the dresser and picking out a sweatshirt and pants. I disrobed, throwing the soaked clothes in the laundry basket in my closet before getting dressed. Before I left, I flung the towel in the basket as well.

I hustled downstairs and back to the kitchen. The water was hot and ready so I added in the powder for the hot chocolate, stirring it with a spoon. Cupping the mug in my palms to warm me up, I took a few sips of the heated liquid. The aroma filled my nostrils and soothed me as the delicious hot nectar flowed down my throat, warming me from the inside out.

Nothing like a warm mug of hot chocolate to warm you up, I said, setting the mug down on the table.

I sat down on the couch and picked up my new book. I wonder what mysteries you hold inside. I turned it over, inspecting the ancient, worn leather. Nothing stood out so I decided to have a glance at its blank pages again.

How? This wasn’t there before! I exclaimed, stunned to find myself gawking at crimson ink swirling and composing letters inside the previously blank pages.

As a man of logic, I surmised the book must have been written with disappearing or invisible ink. Perhaps the heat from my mug or the natural carbon dioxide in the air caused the words to reappear. So maybe I didn’t know the exact science behind it, but I knew there was some method or other to it.

I flipped through the book as more and more pages were laden with words. I was a little more than halfway through when