Lunacy's Dance

By McConnaughay

College can be fun for some and rough for others, either way, the students at Jalint University had been circling their calendars for a carefree, memorable weekend at the prestigious Mt. Kass. Things change, however, when they find themselves in a world of torment, as though the very mountain itself is out for their throats!

Lunacy's Dance combines elements of the ghost and zombie genre, along with fantastical elements, borrowing characters and events from the larger world of McConnaughay's Maharris (don't worry, you don't need to read one to enjoy the other) and acting as a blood-relative to his first foray into the horror genre with Catherine: Forever with Love.

• Language: English
• Publisher: McConnaughay
• Release date: May 8, 2020
• ISBN: 9780463238486

McConnaughay

My name is McConnaughay. Nicholas "Nick" McConnaughay.I write "The Aeonian Fantasy" series (third installment arriving later this year) and co-write "The Canes" series (third installment also arriving later this year) with Scott Moore. My fantasy blog / writing website "Vinatici.com" hopes to provide a platform for myself and others hoping to share their enthusiasm and contribution to the genre. I also write horror stories and run a blog / writing website for said passion called "ReadersDigested.com" (my second horror novel "Lunacy's Dance" came out earlier this year).Eagle-eyed might readers might find me at book conventions in Midwestern America (2019 - we had our books distributed in Indiana, Missouri, Kentucky, and Illinois), otherwise I am easy to contact on the worldwide web and am usually up for a chat.

Book preview

1

The shine from her flashlight led in some light through the cave. Even then, it was not clear if she was headed in the right direction. It was difficult to concentrate or make sense out of anything at all happening around her. Perhaps it was out of shock, perhaps it was out of trauma. Whatever the reason, she had blocked out everything she could.

All she remembered was the grinding sound of the blade while it severed into her flesh. She couldn't remember herself screaming, she remembered the relief of her flesh as it spread apart, the blood as it dampened and stained her camouflage get-up. The tragic part was not that there was numbness to her face or probable disfigurements. The tragic part was that, in her hands, she tightly held a flesh piece of herself, and that she didn't know which part of her it was.

It could have been the side of her cheek or a part of her ear, as she had repressed the extent of what they’d done. However, her whole face felt numb, and she was too afraid to check for herself. She continued onward through the cave, not stopping to inspect her surroundings or investigate where she might’ve been. It wasn’t like she’d live, after all. The mood in the air had far too much finality; she couldn’t imagine a life after this.

A cold chill found its way to her, but she wasn’t able to see where the draft came from.

Hallop! She yelled out as loud as she could, begging for help. It sounded funny. Her mouth couldn’t completely open and her face rattled when she raised her voice to a yell. That gave her an idea for at least one of the things the mad doctor had done to her. She could now remember the way his voice sounded; so proud and engaged in his work.

The more she started to remember the things done to her, the more light-headed and nauseous she became. Maybe she was on the verge of bleeding out, or maybe she was simply about to pass out from hysteria. The former seemed more appealing, the prospect of letting go and ceasing to feel anything at all. Yelling out was only out of instinct, especially when the only people she was likely to alert were far from kind or concerned. Like a wounded animal on the brink, she only yearned to crawl somewhere she could be alone and die.

The cave was vast enough to walk in. The walls and ceiling appeared to be nothing except dirt; no sign of support-beams or pillars to speak-of. The likelihood of a cave-in seemed probable, if not fully inevitable. She crept on until meeting a cliff, which stood in-front of a robust gap she almost missed. From here on, the cave had no ceiling, letting the moonlight show, the sun, had not fully left yet either, creating the appearance of the sky burning overhead. Between the space, which spanned at least fifty feet, a waterfall poured down. The flow of the water was abundant, not overbearing but very present and distinct. It might have even been peaceful under different circumstances then this.

As the cave became more expansive, it felt more like being inside of an active volcano; the way the ground spiraled and the sun added a reddish glisten to the water below.

To her left, Chelsea could see the only way she hadn’t been was a downward path, one that went around and around like a staircase. Chelsea followed the path’s linear lead, traveling down with all the stature and poise of a total zombie.

Pretty soon, she suspected she’d start to smell like death as well, that she’d start having the odor of rot.

The air remained cold, a start contrast from the fiery crimson aesthetic around her. She continued down. The walls were lined with stone doors with hard bars that resembled a prison. The cells were empty. Chelsea was certain to shine her flashlight on each of the cages to be for certain. She noted the distinctive shackles and the skeletons they unnecessarily restrained. What was this? What had it been? What was it now?

The descend seemed to go on for miles and miles. It would clearly take her no closer to a way out from the way, and, in time, it seemed turning back might have been less counterproductive.

No, you don’t! The eccentric sounding, neurotic voice of a man came from above, where the cave first welcomed the outside sky.

Without having to think about it, she knew the voice belonged to the doctor, the one that had mutilated her in the name of his sick perspective of science.

That voice. The mere sound of it was enough to light a fire under her. She knew well of the man behind the voice what he was capable of. Chelsea tried to add more oomph to her step, tried to quicken her pace to create some distance away from the man, but, in her current state, she could barely find it in herself to walk, let alone run.

Her walk swayed to the left and to the right, resembling that of a drunkard’s night on the town. If it wasn’t for her own careful deliberation, she would have sent herself tumbling off from the cliff.

Where do you think you’re going? Please! Don’t damage yourself! The man yelled out.

Chelsea looked behind her. The doctor was not in sight. She’d circled the cave’s spiral twice now, perhaps she’d created some separation between them. The way her head ached suggested a loss of consciousness could happen at any moment. She walked into one of the cells, opening it as quietly as she could.

Her flashlight shined over to the wooden bunker sat in the corner of the small, cubicle-sized cell. The skeletal remains of a former inmate laid atop the frame, with a thin sheet draped over it. Chelsea turned off her flashlight, left now only with what the moonlight cast into view. She climbed underneath the bunker and did her best to calm her breathing, looking out from between the cell bars.

It was, what felt like, a lifetime of seconds. It was an eternity condensed down into a single moment. At last, Chelsea heard the footsteps of The Doctor as he finally began to near her. The Doctor moved slow, an older frail man that needed a cane to walk, and, with the other hand, carried a lantern that brought his silhouette into sight. The Doctor walked on from the cell door, shining his lantern for a better look into the holdings.

Chelsea clasped her hand over her mouth, for the first time, touching the psycho’s handiwork.

The items held in one hand were clear now. Her cheeks had been sliced into, spread apart like the wings of a bird, then, sewn back together in an ugly stitch job. When she breathed, even with her hand clasped over her mouth, she could feel the air escaping from the holes in her skin. She skimmed her face with her hands. The numbing was starting to wear off. The fleshy remains that were in her hands? That now seemed most certainly to be a part of her nose. In its place, all that was left were the nostril slits; ones that made her quickly think of a snake.

The way she wasn’t wallowing in agony entailed the wounds must have been pampered and she must have been heavily medicated.

The lantern’s light left her line of view, and so, with it, left The Doctor.

As he did, a sound that resembled rattling chains had her attention. It came from on top of the bed. Soon, a pair of feet dropped down, loudly planting themselves down in-front of her face.

It was no use trying to remain unnoticed by the person, her yelp from the shock was enough to make her presence clear. The person’s maneuvering could be distinguished by the creaking of the wooden frame.

Rindan does not allow for us to have roommates! The man yelled dumbly, his head between his legs, look at her.

Chelsea flinched and instinctively grabbed the flashlight from off the ground and clubbed him over the head with it, feeling the vibration in her hands and hearing the glass from the flashlight shatter.

The big lug cried out, swiping around at nothing while he suffered. Chelsea climbed to her feet and limped out from the cage. She walked her way drunkenly up the pathway, knowing The Doctor had certainly heard the altercation.

The mistake she made was attempting to do more than walk away, and, in her valiant attempts at running away, her balance gave and she found herself falling to the ground, almost completely off the cliff!

I’ve got her, Rindan! The large prisoner exclaimed, sounding proud to be able to service his master.

The prisoner had a handful of her clothing, keeping Chelsea suspended and from falling off the cliff. Chelsea looked down at the drop below, which landed in water, but was a far enough drop that it would kill her on impact. She fought her best, trying to free herself from the lug’s grasp and depart to her death.

Good, came a voice in the silence. The voice of The Doctor.

Lunacy’s Dance

Chapter One

1 - Bryan

No one would ever mistake Bryan Rohrer as the adventurous type. Calling him a lady’s man extraordinaire would not describe him either. Even basic sociability was only barely something he possessed in his repertoire. That all changed when he was around Scott Stanfield.

Scott made all the difference. He made Bryan a known face in the scene.

That’s because Scott was the opposite of him, the antithesis of everything Bryan was and ever would be. And, from the outside looking in, Bryan was certain Scott was a lot happier as a result.

"Because I said so!" Scott sang with a drunken slur impeding his usual speech. It wasn’t very noticeable though. After all, he wasn’t singing alone. Instead, a roaring crowd of dancing lunatics hollered and yelled to their heart’s content. This all happened alongside the music behind it.

They were at a party. A college party, and one where only the hottest of students received invitations (and Bryan). It was something Bryan knew he’d never have been invited to by his own merits, but it was all okay because Scott Stanfield was his friend, and that meant he was invited.

"Do-do-down the bitches go!" The dancing crowd of people continued to scream out to the heavens. There was nothing like misogynistic rap music with a catchy beat to bring everyone together in a united front.

Women who’d already had far too much to drink were ready to show their tits on a dare, and the right douche would be around to try and take it past that. This wasn’t always college life. Not in Bryan’s experience, at least. Just tonight.

Luckily, they were a little safer, now that security had tightened for Southern Jalint University in recent days. Security guards were always driving around the sidewalks in their little golf-cart vehicles, and most of the girls were too smart to be given the runaround. Of course, they were smart, S.J.U was in the top five best colleges of all Maharris, but they also weren’t naive anymore.

They traveled in packs and kept a tight lid over their drinks. It was the Freshman girls that were the most rambunctious. They had their first taste of freedom away from their parents and they swigged it down to the very last drop, unaware of the very bad people that took it as a chance for their own gains. But that was beside the point…

Naming all the many different restrictions and protections took a lot of the air out from the room. For starters, if one person really wanted to know what it felt like at this party, they’d have to know the aroma in the air, which reeked of something between heavy body-odor, alcohol, and, for some reason or another, urine. Bryan could see the cigarette (or maybe weed) smoke ascending from somewhere in the crowd, but it was too far for him to smell its scent.

The music raved on, blasting out a bass that made the ground beneath Bryan’s feet vibrate. It was coming from a bunch of large speakers set up around the area, no doubt snatched up from the glee club, not that anyone involved in it would likely be invited to this party.

Scott was out on the lawn, dancing in the crowd that jumped around in tandem, flaunting their arms to the beat of the song as it played. Bryan, on the other hand, opted for a more isolated area. Bryan found himself in-front of the large pool where several lawn chairs and tables were strewn about. He sat alone, watching some brick shithouse looking tall dude carry a petite girl on his shoulders. A beach ball was in play, and Bryan had been keeping score in his head over who he thought was the best of those involved. 3 points for the tattooed chick with the dark-hair, but it was a short muscular guy who seemed dead serious about his beach ball playing that led the pack with the highest score.

Bryan took a sip of his diet soda. Some people might have rolled their eyes at it or mocked the sight, but alcohol wasn’t something he dabbled with anymore. Not after his last couple experiences with the liquid courage ended badly. Without it, Bryan had a little bit tougher of a time trying to unwind, which made parties a bit of a drag, but he also knew that appearances were worth keeping anyways.

How’s the gaming going, who’s winning? A voice said, one that caught Bryan off-guard and made him flinch.

… What? Bryan asked, perhaps sounding a little more aggressive than what he intended, trying to compensate around the amount of noise from the music around them. He looked over to the woman, a round-faced girl with dark-bluish hair and a noise piercing. She was cute, but in a punk-rock, alternative kind-of way. It was a non-conventional cuteness, Bryan supposed.

It was about a second later he was able to piece two and two together and figure out what she’d said. Oh no, me? I’m not keeping score, just a little zoned out is all.

I’m just giving you shit, the woman jested, a playful expression on her face as she said it. Her voice was child-like. Her age and physique decided the matter, but, by her voice alone, it almost felt more fitting to call her girl, instead of woman.

Good one, Bryan said dryly, mostly because he didn’t really know what else to say.

You’re a little bit of a quiet one, aren’t you?

Bryan smiled. I don’t know if you’ve given me enough of a chance to make that assumption.

Okay, nodding her head as if to say it was a fair point. She awkwardly took a seat on one of the lawn chairs, flopping back by mistake. They leaned down more than what was ideal, so much so that Bryan had to hunch himself over in-order to put his elbows on the table in-front of him.

The woman soon adjusted to do the same. Tell me about yourself then, what do you like to do for fun?

Bryan looked at her seriously for a second; dead seriously. Then, he shrugged. A sly smirk formed on his face he did so. The woman laughed and so did he. But then, throwing her a line, he elaborated, I like soccer. I’ve played it since I was a little kid.

He watched as the beach ball was thrown out from the pool, only to be kicked back in by a man who had clearly partook a great deal in the night’s celebrations (a drunk man, in other words).

Oh, soccer, She nodded, It’s a big deal here in Jalint, isn’t it?

Especially in this part of Jalint. When I was growing up, it felt like soccer was the only dream I was ever really allowed to have. You either met your dreams and played soccer or you ended up working as a farmer, or something.

And, you don’t work there, so you must be good at soccer then?

Bryan chuckled. Not even a little bit.

The woman laughed, a small snort escaping her before she took a sip of her drink, which had a lid over the top. Bryan noted the way her drink also had soda in it, not beer.

It’s alright, she said brushing off the comment with another small laugh. K.J., she said, at once, extending her hand for Bryan to shake, a quest Bryan obliged to.

Bryan, he said next.

I see you hanging out with Scott Stanfield a lot. I would’ve pegged you as some star athlete or something.

It seemed there were always two constant variables for most people that met Bryan. They’d make a comment about how quiet he was, or they’d wonder how a guy like Scott would be friends with someone like him. It took K.J. only a couple of minutes to complete that tradition.

Scott and I have been friends since we were real little. We’ve played soccer together all the way through school. Scott was the team’s pride and joy, and well, I kept myself from ever getting cut from the team, at least.

I was wondering why you’d bother with a jock like that. I wouldn’t think he’d be worth your time. K.J. said. When she smiled, Bryan was able to see the dimples on both sides of her cheeks.

Scott’s not so bad. I mean, the guy’s rough around the edges, but not a bad person.

And, then, as if waiting on cue for that statement, the beach ball rolled back outside the pool, and this time, Scott was ready to demonstrate his gifted footwork to the rest of the partygoers. Unfortunately, the grass, mushy and soggy from the pool water, had other plans, and Scott slipped backwards, falling on his ass. A small roar of laughter could be heard over the music by some of the people in the pool, but Scott’s voice was the most distinct.

Scott was laughing as he climbed back to his feet, but Bryan already knew he wasn’t much for public embarrassment. His ears turned noticeably red in a moment’s notice, as they often did in these situations, and soon after, the beach ball was popped by a well-placed fingernail.

There was the sound of some angry fuck you insults directed at Scott by many of the guys in the pool, and Bryan was relieved to find that seemed to be the extent of the retaliation. Too many times, Scott had found a way to start a fist fight with someone or someone’s at a party and gotten the shit beat out