Crooked Souls

By Jacob Klop

A thin crack is all it takes for wickedness to coil into our world. Winding through the delicate minds of innocents and the twisted desires of killers, it preys upon the crippled pieces of our souls.

From a train bound for Hell, to the greedy cravings of a murderous unicorn, Crooked Souls is a collection of sixteen original horror stories about broken people and the unearthly encounters disturbing their lives.

If you like horror that builds steadily to twist endings, you'll love Crooked Souls.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Jacob Klop
• Release date: Sep 4, 2019
• ISBN: 9781393160502

Jacob Klop

Jacob Klop was born in Montreal, but now lives just outside Toronto, Canada with his wife, two kids and a fat Maine coon. He tends to think of his best story ideas while abed, but sadly, can't write in his sleep or he would spend his waking hours watching hockey, reading books, and playing video games. When the writing bug bites all the other interests in his life do tend to get neglected. You'll find him typing away in front of the computer on most nights.

Book preview

One Hell of a Ride

Late again ! Sylvia slammed the Audi’s door shut and sprinted for the arriving train. When would she learn to wake up earlier? A drizzle of rain sheeted down from the grey sky, leaving wet streaks on her glasses as she ran. Perfect . She didn’t even have an umbrella. She raised an arm, shielding her face from the raindrops and regarded the passengers filing onto the waiting train in the distance. It was about half way loaded. There might still be time. Sylvia sped up, her feet slipping on the slick pavement as she accelerated across the parking lot. She reached the concrete stairs and raced up to the platform, leaping up the steps in twos. No time to scan her train pass. Hopefully security wasn’t checking today.

She burst onto the platform just in time to see the doors of the train slide shut. Damn it. She spun around and clenched her fists, tempted to scream her frustration, but held back. What was the point? The train inched away, creaking along the tracks. Comfortable passengers peered at her through the rain drenched windows. She imagined the satisfaction they must be feeling to see someone had missed the train. Sylvia gritted her teeth, wishing she could slap every one of their smug faces.

The train accelerated, soon leaving her on the empty platform. She entered a covered seating area and glanced at her phone, 8:20. It would be at least twenty minutes before the next train arrived. The sky darkened and the rain altered from a drizzle to heavy droplets. She sighed and sat down on a wooden bench. It would be a nasty walk back to her car. In the distance, the white light of an approaching train neared. Odd. It was too early for the next passenger train. She shrugged. It must be a freight train.

Sylvia closed her eyes and leaned against the glass wall of the enclosure. What would they say to her at the hospital when she showed up late for work again? Would they fire her? It seemed unlikely. The administrators were always complaining how hard it was to find good help, and although Sylvia sometimes showed up late, her reviews were perfect, and her attentiveness to the patients was exemplary. Why, just yesterday there was that sweet old lady who was in so much pain from her shattered hip. She had needed a lot of assistance, and Sylvia remained by her side long after her shift ended. Sylvia imagined the agony a shattered hip caused. The intense pain that must be shooting through her leg with even the slightest motion. She smiled at the thought.

Sylvia shoved her hands into her pockets and shivered. It was cool for a late spring day and the chill was becoming uncomfortable. Maybe she would go back to the warm interior of the Audi and wait there. She opened her eyes and stood to leave.

The light from the approaching train neared the station, but it was slowing. Weird. Usually freight trains whipped past the station at full speed with their horn blaring. She squinted. It looked like a passenger train, but was painted bright red, instead of the normal green and white. The bell for an arriving train clanged. She glanced at her watch. It had only been five minutes since the last one departed. As far as she knew there was no train at this time. Huh. Maybe it was new.

She waited for the door to open and then stepped on quickly. A silver haired man with a thin ebony cane sat in the handicapped spot to her left. He looked familiar. Maybe she’d seen him before on the earlier train.

Excuse me; does this train go to Middleton Square Station? She queried, preparing to hop out if the answer was negative.

The man peered at her. Eventually, it will. He smiled, and a puff of fetid breath rose to her nostrils.

Sylvia leaned away. Ugh. Gross.

Eventually. What the hell did that mean? She shrugged. Maybe it was a slow train, or maybe the old man was senile. Sylvia moved to a vacant grouping of four seats and glanced back at the man. Where did she know him from? He didn’t look like one of the regular train riders, but she was positive she’d met him before. Oh well. Maybe it would come to her later.

Most of the seats were empty in the car. She smiled and stretched her legs out. Nice. Maybe there were benefits to being late. The train rattled along the tracks. The rhythmic motion was relaxing. She closed her eyes and thought about the patients that needed to be tended to when she arrived at the hospital.

Mr. Simpson was recovering from heart surgery. He was young, bright and healthy. Not someone that would receive her special treatment. Mrs. Haley wasn’t so fortunate. The cancer had spread throughout her body. She was in constant pain; her face a twisted rictus of agony. Sylvia smiled, recalling how Mrs. Haley pulled on her sleeve as she walked by, pleading for more pain medication. Sylvia had a special dose of saline solution she kept for those situations. It was useless for the pain. She grinned, remembering how grateful Mrs. Haley was. She had thanked Sylvia profusely, and even seemed to believe the shot soothed her pain, but it wasn’t long before she was crying for more medicine. Sylvia hoped Mrs. Haley had survived the night. She wanted to spend as much time as possible with her today.

A metallic voice crackled through the speaker, announcing the next stop. Sylvia was so comfortable with the route that she tuned out the message. The train slowed and pulled into the station. Sylvia peered out the rain soaked glass. A battered, black sign with old fashioned white lettering labeled it Carrington Station. Whoa. That’s not right. She panicked. Where the hell was she? This wasn’t the next stop on the line. Two people stepped onto the train and the doors slid shut. One of them went up the stairs to the second level, and the other, a pale white teen with a pierced nose and long black hair, sat in the aisle seat diagonal from her.

Excuse me, but does this train stop at Middleton Square?

The teen pulled out a phone from her knapsack. Clink, clank. A metallic, clattering noise emerged from the bag. Eventually, the girl muttered without looking at Sylvia. She stared at her phone, scrolling down with one hand.

Sylvia itched to interrupt the teen and ask how long eventually was, but there was something about the girl that made her wary. She looked familiar, but not in a comfortable way. More like a memory from a bad dream. Sylvia twisted around in her seat and scanned the other passengers in the car. They ignored her, but every one of them gave her the same weird sense of déjà vu. She had seen all these people before, but where?

The side door from the rear car slid open and a loud man’s voice called. Tickets. Everyone, please have your tickets ready.

Crap. Of all the days to have a ticket check. After sprinting for the train, she had completely forgotten to go back and scan hers. Her face reddened. It wasn’t the fine that bothered her, but the thought of what people around her would think. They would look at her as if she were a thief. It was embarrassing. She glanced at the opposite end of the train. She was momentarily tempted to hurry into the next car, or maybe hide in the bathroom, but then shook her head, irritated at the ridiculous ideas. She could imagine the security guard tapping his feet, waiting for her to emerge from the bathroom, or chasing her down the aisle of the train. Now that would be really embarrassing.

The officer approached the bank of seats in front of her. He wore a red vest and a black cap with the logo of a battered rowboat. Weird uniform.

Ticket, please.

A man wearing what looked like teal pajamas decorated with black and white cats handed over his pass.

Damn it. It would have been nice if someone else was caught as well. Misery loves company.

The black haired girl diagonal from her shuffled through her backpack. Clink clank. Sylvia winced. The metallic clash rang sharply against her ears. What was making that annoying noise? The teen pulled out a ticket. It looked like a day pass rather than the card that regular riders used.

Sylvia put her purse on her lap and made a show of searching through it.

Tickets please, the officer peered at them with hard black eyes from behind gold rimmed spectacles. The rowboat on his cap seemed to glide forward, as if it were being pushed by a gentle wave.

The teen handed over her day pass, and it was returned after receiving a cursory glance. The officer shifted his full attention to Sylvia. The boat on his cap surged toward her.

I’m sorry, but I can’t seem to find my ticket, Sylvia flushed.

Hmm, the officer assessed her with a hard glare. I suppose it would be satisfactory if you paid me directly.

Oh, really. I can do that? That would be great. She pulled out her wallet. Is debit or credit okay?

No, it is not. He paused and leaned over her shoulder. A greedy look flashed across his eyes. But I will accept that coin.

A coin? What in the world was he talking about? She followed his gaze to the bottom of her purse, and saw the glint of a quarter lying on top of some hoarded napkins.

She plucked the quarter free. Are you talking about this?

Yes, I will accept that as payment.

Uh, okay sure. It’s all yours. She held out the quarter.

His fingers were cold and dry as he snatched the coin, dropping it into the breast pocket of his red vest. Payment accepted. He inclined his head and moved on to the next bank of seats.

The black haired teen grinned and began texting furiously.

Sylvia frowned. Was there something funny about this? God this was such a weird train. She vowed never to be late again.

"Carson Wells Station next stop" the announcer crackled.

Sylvia stared nervously out the window as the train slowed. The rain had stopped and the water on the glass was evaporating. This station looked like something from an old western. There was a wooden shack with a crooked sign labeled tickets hanging over a rectangular glass window. There were no buildings or roads around, and the landscape was an endless plain of wretched weeds and tall sun baked grass. Where in the world were they? This can’t be right. Sylvia chewed the side of her mouth nervously.

The doors slid open, and a blast of heat surged across her face. Wow, what was up with this crazy weather? Two people entered. A heavyset woman plopped down beside her, and an older gentleman wearing a silver bowtie folded his legs and sat across from her. Seriously. There’s like a hundred vacant seats in the car and everybody wants to gather in this section of four. This was too bizarre. Didn’t these people have any common courtesy?

She gazed at the four vacant seats beside her and considered shifting across. Would that look weird? Yes, it probably would. She sighed. It couldn’t possibly be much longer before they arrived, could it?

Excuse me ma’am, the old man with the bow tie cleared his throat.

Sylvia raised a querying eyebrow.

You wouldn’t happen to be going to Middleton Square would you?

Yes, I am, she smiled. Finally, someone who could help. Will we be arriving soon?

Eventually, the man smirked and averted his eyes.

Sylvia clenched her fists. Fuck this. She stood, pushing her way out from the surrounding passengers and moved to the adjacent group of four empty seats. Who cares what they thought of her? These people were nuts.

Clink clank. She winced. The sound came from one of the passengers in the seats she had just left. What was that noise? It sounded like small pieces of metal knocking together. She sat down at a window seat and glanced back at the man in the bowtie. He shifted something in his suit pocket then looked up and caught her eye. He grinned and licked his lips with a thin wet, tongue.

Sylvia shuddered and jerked her head around, staring out the window. And at that moment she remembered where she had seen him before, but it couldn’t be possible. It didn’t make any sense.

Mr. Harlan was his name. He wasn’t at the hospital for long, but he liked to tease the nurses about their baby blue uniforms. Hey baby, I’m feeling blue, can you help me feel better he’d call out whenever one of them walked past his doorway. At least that was what he said when the agony of his kidney stones wasn’t coursing through him. Sylvia had been sure to give him a dose of saline solution when he cried for pain relief during her shift, even though he didn’t fit her normal pattern of someone that was unlikely to recover. Funny thing was, the kidney stone caused sepsis and Mr. Harlan died a few days after admittance. She doubted he would be missed. He was a jackass, and the world was better without him.

She studied him in the reflection of the glass. The image was blurry and distorted, but if she didn’t know Mr. Harlan was dead, she could have sworn it was him. Well, they did say everyone in the world had a twin. Maybe she was looking at his.

Outside, the train tore through a bleak, dirty countryside. Twisted, gnarled trees in the distance pointed leafless fingers up to a slate grey sky. The ground close to the tracks was cracked, red clay with scraggly weeds struggling to survive. It looked like she’d been transported to another planet. What the hell was going on? Sylvia visualized the map of the city and couldn’t recall an approach to Middleton Square that crossed through an empty wasteland devoid of buildings. She looked down at the floor and drummed her feet up and down nervously. It made her too nervous to look out the window at the unfamiliar landscape. The worst thing was, there wasn’t a damn thing she could do. She could only hope the train found its way to her station soon.

"Avernus Gates."

The brakes squealed and the rattling train slowed to a stop. The doors opened and a blast of heat pushed into the car, leaving Sylvia gasping for breath. The mournful cry of a coyote or wolf sounded in the distance. At least, that’s what she hoped it was. The call was louder and more guttural than she would have thought. Outside, rust red dunes of sand were piled high on either side of the tracks. There wasn’t even a platform. Where had the trees gone? She was just looking at them in the distance a minute ago. The train now appeared to have stopped in the middle of a desert. She despaired. Maybe she should go to the front of the train and talk to the conductor.

Around seven or eight people entered the car. Huh. How can that be? Where were they coming from? She looked back outside. There were no roads or buildings. Just red dunes of sand, and an infernal heat that pushed against her lungs. She licked her dry lips. Three of the newest passengers trooped over to her seating area and settled around her. Clink clank. The weird metal tapping sound clattered from their pockets and bags as they sat down. The passengers in the car no longer ignored her. They shifted in their seats and stared at her as the doors closed. What the hell was going on?

Across from her a thin, dark woman with creased skin grinned at Sylvia. Are you going to Middleton Square?

Yes, I am. Are you? Sylvia prayed for a positive response. She would feel a thousand times better if she met someone travelling to the same destination.

Oh, I haven’t decided where I’m going yet, but the next stop is Gehenna. The woman reached into her purse. Clink clank. I think you might like it there.

Uh, no. I’m not on a vacation. I need to get to work. Do you know if Middleton is after Gehenna?

You don’t recognize me do you young lady?

Sylvia leaned closer and peered at her. Yes, she did. It was another patient from the hospital. Ms. Jackson. Sylvia struggled to recall what had been wrong with her. Some sort of wasting disease that was terminal. She had died in a great deal of pain. Sylvia would normally have enjoyed the memory, but was far too nervous.

I, uh, it can’t be you. Shakily, Sylvia stood to move to another seat. Maybe she would go to the second level. There was something wrong with the people here.

Oh, please don’t go, Ms. Jackson’s hand snapped onto her wrist. She pulled something from her purse that looked like a set of steel knitting needles.

Let go of me, you crazy nut Sylvia yanked her hand free, and looked at the other passengers for assistance. Wasn’t anyone going to help? The familiar faces around her were blank and expressionless. She now realized it wasn’t just Ms. Jackson and Mr. Harlan that had been at the hospital. Every one of the passengers in the car was a patient she had attended. And they were all dead. Patients who had died in extraordinary pain under her care. This had to be a nightmare. Sylvia pushed her way to the main aisle.

Clink Clank. Mr. Harlan reached into his suit jacket pocket and pulled out a set of steel needles. Sylvia paused and eyed the needles nervously.

A searing pain shot through her wrist. Ms. Jackson had jabbed a needle into the soft flesh just below her hand. Sylvia jerked away instinctively, but Ms. Jackson clung tight and pushed the needle deeper into her wrist.

Help! Sylvia cried and reached across the pale teenager for the emergency stop with her uninjured hand. The teen’s name was Emily she recalled and felt an urge to giggle. This wasn’t real anyways. Why should she take it seriously?

Emily caught her arm and yanked it back before she reached the lever. A sharp pain erupted from her ankle. A long needle protruded from her Achilles tendon and was digging deeper into her heel. Sylvia stumbled and tried to pull her leg free.

Someone, help me, she pleaded. Grinning faces loomed above her and cold hands pushed her down into the aisle. Sharp surges of agony penetrated the joints of her knees and elbows.

"Gehenna Station, next stop"

Ms. Jackson leaned close to her and grinned wildly, Ah, Gehenna my dear. It’s just the place for you. Exactly where you belong.

Sylvia started to cry. No, I won’t go. I’m going to Middleton Square. I need to get to work! She looked frantically from face to face, but every one of them was cold and distant. She struggled to free herself, but could barely move. She was trapped like a butterfly by steel pins.

Helplessly, she watched as the needles were pushed deeper into her joints. She screamed in agony, but there was no mercy given. Her tormentors attached thin wires to the ends of the needles and threaded them through her joints. Blood poured from the holes in her limbs and dripped onto the smooth floor.

The train slowed and pulled into the station. From the floor, Sylvia turned her head and peered out the window. In the distant horizon, the sky was blood red. The roof of the station was covered by what appeared to be an enormous mushroom. Tendrils of grey vines fell across the door as it opened and a chorus of screams poured through the portal.

Time to go, Mr. Harlan pulled on a steel rod and her hand lurched forward under his control. The other passengers rose around her, each of them controlling a different joint. She was pulled to her feet and dragged like a marionette along the aisle of the train. Each step shot excruciating pain through her arms and legs. One of the few things she could still control was her mouth, and from it, Sylvia emitted a high pitched scream of torment and fear.

Oh, you remember now who we are, don’t you, Ms. Jackson taunted. And do you regret what you did to us? The excruciating deaths we experienced because of your cruel ministrations.

Sylvia nodded, tears streaming down her face. Perhaps there could still be some forgiveness. I am truly sorry, she stammered. I’ll do anything you ask.

Ms. Jackson cackled. It’s too late now.

The puppeteers dragged her to the exit. The officer with the red vest and boat cap waited. He held up a hand, and the passengers stopped. Sylvia dangled between them.

She has paid the toll, he intoned. She may pass.

No, I don’t want to pass. I’m going to Middleton Square. This isn’t my stop. Please, have mercy.

But my dear, we have had mercy, Ms. Jackson smiled sweetly. You have only received the smallest taste of torment from us.

The passengers handed their steel needles through the door to waiting disembodied knobby red hands. The hands snatched at the needles and twisted them around, causing her limbs to contort in directions that had never been intended. Her bones snapped and crackled, and Sylvia screamed even louder as the monstrous hands dragged her from the train.

The door slid shut, and through the portal Sylvia heard the muffled, mechanical voice of the announcer, "Middleton Square, next stop"

The Palace Avignon

Alice swept popcorn remnants from the concrete floor into the tall dustbin. It didn’t take long. Only two customers had attended the afternoon showing. She sighed. The Palace Avignon used to be the grandest theatre in the city, but now it was nothing but an ignored relic. Nowadays, everyone wanted adjustable leather seats, 3D pictures, and sound that boomed like thunder in your ears. She gazed at the tall red curtain draped across the movie screen. It curved in folded satin elegance until reaching oak pillars engraved with decorative angels. The ceiling was painted a dancing parade of hot air balloons and soaring planes. Sometimes Alice imagined they were racing one another for a prize at an old time fair. An enormous balcony of aqua blue seats curled across the upper level. She sighed. The auditorium may not be high tech, but it was easily just as grand as any cinema in the world. How could people not appreciate the decades of entertainment soaked into the bones of this building?

She had worked at the Avignon for decades, but it wouldn’t last for long on the occasional patron or two that now showed up. She shook her head sadly. It was difficult watching it wither away. Alice turned on her heel and the dustbin clattered against the steps as she strode to the exit. Edward, her supposed helper, stood at the top of the auditorium, smirking. Sometimes she wondered if it was the only expression he could make. Like there was a joke being played all the time, but he was the only one aware of it.

So, two customers. That was just great.

Alice ignored his sarcasm, I called out to a couple walking by, and they decided to give it a shot.

Bravo. I guess every little bit helps. He condescended.

You know, it would be good if you did your bit as well.

Oh, but I am. I have a date tonight, and I’m going to bring her to the Avignon.

She cocked her head. Seriously, how did you get a date?

Edward pouted, I guess I overwhelmed her with my charm.

Fine, if you don’t want to tell me.