A Deadly Summer Day: Trinity of Horror: Macabre Tales, #2

By K. T. Rose

A sunny summer day turned deadly.

 

Reese's dreams shriveled faster than his lungs. Joyce's passion for helping others burned to ashes. Jack's hopes of college decayed into a pile of rotting flesh.

 

In this horrifying short story collection, a normal summer day turns deadly for three unsuspecting teens. Reese, Joyce, and Jack face terrors that turned their young, carefree worlds into gut-wrenching nightmares. Will they survive? Or will that deadly summer day be their last?

• Language: English
• Publisher: K.T. Rose
• Release date: Nov 15, 2019
• ISBN: 9781393774815

Book preview

Trinity of Horror

Macabre Tales

Volume 2

A Deadly Summer Day

K.T. Rose

Copyright

A Deadly Summer Day

Trinity of Horror- Macabre Tales Vol. 2

Copyright © 2019 by K.T. Rose

All rights reserved.

The stories characters and incidents mentioned in this publication are entirely fictional.

The transmission, duplication, or reproduction of any of the following work including specific information will be considered an illegal act irrespective of if it is done electronically or in print. This extends to creating a secondary or tertiary copy of the work or a recorded copy and is only allowed with express written consent from the Publisher. All additional right reserved.

Written by: K.T. Rose

About A Deadly summer day

A sunny summer day turned deadly.

Reese’s dreams shriveled faster than his lungs. Joyce’s passion for helping others burned to ashes. Jack’s hopes of college decayed into a pile of rotting flesh.

In this horrifying short story collection, a normal summer day turns deadly for three unsuspecting teens. Reese, Joyce, and Jack face terrors that turned their young, carefree worlds into gut-wrenching nightmares. Will they survive? Or will that deadly summer day be their last?

About the Author

K.T. Rose is a horror, thriller, and dark fiction writer from Detroit, Michigan. She posts suspense and horror flash fiction on her blog at kyrobooks.com and is the author of a suspenseful short story series titled Trinity of Horror, an erotic thriller novel titled When We Swing, and A Dark Web Horror Series. She also writes supernatural and paranormal horror novels and short stories.

Contents

Copyright

About A Deadly summer day

About the Author

Karen

Satan Brothers

Today’s Special

More from K. T. Rose

Karen

The cart grumbled as it rolled over small potholes and rubble. I took in a deep breath, surprised the wheels hadn’t let up under my weight. The wind lifted my tank top and whipped it around my waist as I hooted and hollered with my arms up and out. My chest heaved as an exhilarating breeze picked up, zapping me with an electrifying momentum. I was so loud that people looked over their shoulders at me, distracted from loading up grocery bags or kids into their cars.

Halfway from Tatum’s Fresh Foods entrance, the cart drifted left and my eyes widened. My excited clamoring digressed to an aghast shrill.

"Shit, shit, shit!"

I shifted my body to the right, trying to put the thing back on course for the brick wall that separated the parking lot from the road, not the lone red van parked a few feet before it. Jumping out was a no-go. Neither had it crossed my mind. I was too high on soft brisk winds to entertain the thought of tumbling across the asphalt. The red minivan approached faster with every sway and jolt I put on the basket.

Shit! I screamed. The cart slammed into the fender and shoved my body across the hood. My knees and stomach skidded over the hot metal as my body flung forward, pushing me down onto the pavement. My head broke my fall.

Dazed, I grunted and laid on the festering ground sucking down thick humid air.

Soles smacked the ground with a heavy speed. Panting hard, Lance halted and leaned over me, watching me lay there, blinking hard at the sun.

Damn man! That was...shit! He got close with his phone, filming me panting on the ground. Good thing you gave me your phone this time. Your mom would be pissed if you broke another one.

Yeah. I sat up and winced at the sharp cramp in my knee. Making wipe out videos and pranking strangers isn’t the best excuse. I groaned and ran a hand over my aching, sweating scalp. But she’ll get over it once we’re rich.

Lance moved around the van, searching it. He winced at the hood. Damn man, we need to get out of here. The hood has a nice dent on it. And... He pulled the cart and pushed it off to the middle of the parking lot. Oh shit. This is a nice deep scratch over here too. He shook his head.

Whatever. I peered around. A balding man gawked at us with a serious scowl across his bare face as if we’d disturbed him from loading his car. Another woman rolled her eyes before getting into her blue convertible. Her kids, no older than ten, laughed and whispered as they held their phones up. I smirked. Anyway, did you get the whole thing? I asked, exerted and aching at the joints.

Yeah! I mean, this is gold! We can upload it right now. Forget the old folk's home. I’m sure they can wait until tomorrow for the diaper prank. But this? This is going viral tonight, guaranteed.

Really? I was looking forward to Meadow Oaks. It’s been...I don’t know, fifteen years since I got to shit myself and not get in trouble for it?

That last part being the most important, right?

We laughed.

You’re a slob, he said.

Says the guy who dips his grilled cheese in sour cream.

He shrugged. Don’t knock it til you try it. He poked at his phone with stubby fingers. Sweat trickled down his face and caught his exposed chest. His t-shit looked like a dog chewed the collar before stretching it. I know it was hot, but why the hell was Lance always so wet? Even in the freezing winter, he’d always sweat.

"Ugh. Dude, move. You’re getting your fat boy fluids on me," I said.

Shut up, he said, taking a couple of steps back while recording me standing up. I adjusted my basketball shorts around my hips and twisted my tank top straight along my waist.

I chuckled, shaking the dizzy spell from the fall. Let’s get outta here before—

Hey! An unfamiliar voice. I looked over my shoulder, past the van. A fair-skinned, dark-haired woman approached; her loafers paced with a hurried stride as she clutched her purse tight to her side. She pointed. Hey!

As we looked on at the red-faced woman, I couldn’t help but think of my neighbor, Ms. Monica. She whined as much as Mom and demanded as much as Coach Valders. When she wasn’t calling the police to complain about me bouncing a ball at nine o’clock on a Friday night, or calling my mom to tell about me and Zoe skipping school at my house to make-out, she was busy sipping on Starbucks, knitting zany hats, or yelling at her cat to stop hissing and scratching at her little ankle-biting yapper. Zoe called her Karen but I’m sure her name was Ms. Monica Berry.

Oh my God. Her eyes watered as she stared at the fender on the opposite side. Look at what you assholes did to my car, she growled.

Uh, we’re sorry, I said.

Sorry? she said. "You’re sorry?

I nodded. It was an accident. See, my cart got away from me when I—

This doesn’t look like a— She rounded the vehicle for the hood. Her jaw dropped and eyes popped. What the hell? she whispered.

Look, ma’am, I swear it was an accident, I said. I wasn’t sure if it was the utter shock on her face or the tears in her eyes, but I felt the same disappointment in my bones that I did whenever Mom lectured me about being irresponsible. ‘Sorry’ seemed to paint a smile on Mom’s face. But it wasn’t working for this woman.

She glared at me with red eyes and twitched.

Ma’am, I—

Who’s going to pay for this? she growled.

It—it was an accident—

"I said, who the hell is going to pay for this," she said. She closed her eyes and took in a deep breath before mumbling something to herself. It sounded like a low chant.

I—

Her eyes popped open and the left one flickered as if it were struggling. Her sunken cheeks expanded with heavy, exasperated breaths. W—where are your parents?

I— I started.

Dude, run! Lance said after taking off and gaining a couple of feet on me.

Oh shit! I took off after him for Montpelier Ave and passed him. We whisked past store fronts along the busy street before cutting right into an alley. Colorful graffiti and city dumpsters crowded my peripheral as they hid from the aggressive heat in the thin shadows. I made a sharp left on Harper Road at the alley’s end and stopped in front of Numbers Phone House. I mopped my brow clean with the back of my hand and put my hands to my knees.

Shit. I threw my head back and squinted at the clear sky. Oh, man.

Lance stumbled out the alleyway, breathing as if his lungs were shrinking. I swaggered over to him and drove my fist into his wiggling gut. His shirt rode up his belly, exposing the curdled mess that I called