Tales by the Light of the Moon Shadows

By Tim Conley

Tales by the Light of the Moon Shadows is an anthology of 36 short stories that deal with some of the darker aspects of the human condition. It is the first book of three anthologies of short stories (The Hardwood Chronicles and Cherry Blossoms are the other two). This book deals with some of the 'hot button items' we modern humans would rather sweep under the rug, so to speak. Read & Enjoy!

• Language: English
• Publisher: Tim Conley
• Release date: Sep 17, 2020
• ISBN: 9781005943356

Tim Conley

Hi, my name is Tim Conley. I live in Philadelphia, MS with my beautiful wife, Carmela. My son,James (JD) is in the Air Force and has a son Joshua who is 21/2 with another boy on the way. Carmela's son - Enrik just graduated from Mississippi State University with a degree in Teaching.I have been writing for over twenty years and have published 67 books so far - two recently with Amazon/Kindle. I'm currently working on a fantasy anthology of 28 books called The Rhumgold Sagas.I have always been interested in publishing via eBook format but just haven't found the venue until now. I'm really looking forward to participating in the eBook experience. There are 22 e-books available now and 16 more that are being prepared for release in 2020. Read, explore and enjoy!

Book preview

Tales by the Light of the Moon Shadows

TIM CONLEY

Copyright © 2017 Tim Conley

Dragon’s Breath Publishing

All rights reserved.

ISBN: 1-9738-5521-6

ISBN-13: 978-1-9738-5521-7

Table of Contents

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

Chapter 4

Chapter 5

Chapter 6

Chapter 7

Chapter 8

Chapter 9

Chapter 10

Chapter 11

Chapter 12

Chapter 13

Chapter 14

Chapter 15

Chapter 16

Chapter 17

Chapter 18

Chapter 19

Chapter 20

Chapter 21

Chapter 22

Chapter 23

Chapter 24

Chapter 25

Chapter 26

Chapter 27

Chapter 28

Chapter 29

Chapter 30

Chapter 31

Chapter 32

Chapter 33

Chapter 34

Chapter 35

Chapter 36

About the Author

Acknowledgements

Dedication

Books by Author

DEDICATION

This compilation of short stories is for all those people who love to read but may not have the time to sit and digest a full length novel. Read and Enjoy!

ACKNOWLEDGMENTS

I would like to take this opportunity to acknowledge my wife, Carmela and my son, James (JD) who have stuck by my writing all these years.

C1 A FROSTY BUMP IN THE NIGHT

Stones piled atop each other on both sides of the gravel road threw darker shadows on a night already devoid of the moon’s beacon. Noises crept disturbingly through the forest, threatening to spill over into a world never made for their kind.

Gravel scritched underfoot as the visitor passed a long-abandoned gate: standing open to beckon another soul into the confines of the wrought iron fence surrounding a village of stark, moss-ridden, acid-rain eaten stone markers of the already dead.

Roger tried to tiptoe by the gate; fearful that current residents might want his soul. He turned around suddenly in fear that some hideous monster was already upon him. It stopped. But started again as he took another couple steps. He looked down. His shoe had developed a squeak.

He tried to walk on the side of his foot, so as not to awaken the inhabitants. In the distance, a mournful canine voice lent its eerie cry to a night already steeped in shivers.

Night swished cold and dank through trees mostly stripped bare of leaves. Few remained, as lonesome sentinels, shivering a warning to those who could listen – a warning of what they would do to him. He wouldn’t give them the chance. The frequency of his steps increased, but another sound joined the stirring chorus. So loud it was that he turned around quickly, half expecting a legion of life’s castaways.

It seemed eyes stared from behind each wind-eaten stone. The stranger’s back prickled from stabbing imaginings of what they could do to him. He wouldn’t give them the chance.

The sound continued with each step he took. So loud it was that he knew that someone was going to be disturbed; someone better left undisturbed. Taking another step convinced Roger of what the sound was – his new corduroy pants were rubbing together loudly.

Sighing in relief, Roger tried to gather his courage. There really was nothing out here to scare or frighten anyone. His imagination was conjuring images that didn’t belong in any Tennessee countryside scene that he had read about.

There was nothing out here to frighten anyone, at least not since his grandmother’s time. Too many of Grandma’s tales from the crypt came flooding back. Roger shivered suddenly and pulled his coat closer around his neck. Cold fingers brushed against an exposed throat.

Roger cleared his throat and mumbled, I better get going. Standing here won’t make morning come any quicker. Boy, I wish now I hadn’t forgot to fill up the car this afternoon. I could be home in bed, or at Becky’s, or have Becky in the back seat – Uh? What was that!"

Rustling, loud and ominous, was coming from the side of the road, just beyond the fence. Roger glanced back over his shoulder in an attempt to catch his stalker with the power of his own eyes. Something moved. Muscles were frozen. His feet seemed glued in place. He couldn’t move. About all that would move was his churning stomach and all that was coming from it was noise – Ungh! Ungh!

Coldness seeped into his being as a mass produced an outlined mask of a cruel face. Eyes glimmered redly into his own. They burned their wake into the very innermost part of his soul. Volumes were spoken through those harbingers of death.

We will have your soul in hades tonight.

His eyes were the only tools of his body, save his shaking, icy-cold hands that seemed to work. Muscles taut with fright prepared to move, but his feet seemed glued in place. He couldn’t budge them. They won’t move! he screamed inside his head.

His voice box wanted to assist in the shriek he felt welling up inside, but his eyes saw something that caused his blood to freeze. They saw clearly into the shadows, defining a dark, colder region where dwelt the most fearsome of all monsters. Fear supplied the outlines, wind the creature’s movement, the ground joined in with scratching sound effects.

Staring into the center of the darkness frightened him to the very core of his being. Roger had never felt so alone, or so utterly helpless.

How long have I stood here? he asked himself.

Breath rasped in his throat, sharp pain became a red hot spot in his side. It was obvious why he should have gone out track team. Cold breath streaked down the back of his shirt, freezing the rivulet of sweat trickling down the middle of his back. That did nothing in comparison to the screech of the banshee behind him. Life came flowing back into his limbs once again.

Ro-o-g-e-e-r-r! You’ve been such a bad boy. Shame on you!

You deserve everything you are about to receive – your lukewarm Christianity cannot save you now. ha! ha! ha! Hoo Hoo Hoo!

Something suddenly snapped. Roger’s feet came free of the cement holding them and he streaked down a dark lane only dimly lit by the paleness of a sliver moon peeking wanly from behind tattering clouds.

Roger felt the breath of the beast and looked behind him. His steps careened steadily to the left as he cast a glance over his right shoulder. Dark shadows were following closely, goaded on by the darker one standing to one side of the road. He had to get away, but never saw the ancient wooden street sign that he ran into.

Full force of body in motion met crunchingly with a post weakened and worn by time and weather. It snapped at the bottom, he bounced and flounced back on his ass, the back of his head coming down hard upon the surface of a hard, frost-rimned road.

You see his eyes?

Yeap, they’s wide opened. Frozen terrified.

Yeap, whatcha think could do something like that to a man? This been a peaceable community fer years, hain’t it?

Reckon so. You goin down to the store?

Yeap, reckon so.

What do you think happened to him? Curious bystanders milled around as the stiff body was placed into a waiting ambulance. Nuthin much out on this old stretch of road.

Did you see his eyes?

C2 WHEN VAMPIRES RULED THE NIGHT

I took a deep breath. Rapt faces, upturned, startled into silence waited for another tale from the dark side. The runner on my rocker squeaked as I leaned forward; sharp inhalation from my five grandchildren postmarked the noise. They were afraid to ask What was that?

What would you like to hear about next? I asked. Jimmy's hand went up immediately. Tell us about vampires, Gramps. Make it scary, like the other one. Can you?

Sure, Jimmy. Let me relate my own grandfather's stories about the most terrible, darkest, meanest, most atrocious vampires of history. I was about your age. I remember it like it was yesterday. Perspiration could be seen on young faces.

"Throughout the whole vast shadowy world of ghosts and demons, there is no figure so terrible, no figure so dreaded and abhorred, yet complete with such fearful fascination as the vampire, who is himself neither ghost nor demon, but yet one who partakes the dark natures and possesses more lethal cunning than the vampire.

There were many so-called living vampires in history. Have you heard about Vlad Tepes the Impaler? Heads shook, Gramps continued. The Prince of Wallachia in Romania. My Grandpa said he was a friend with Elizabeth Bathory, a Hungarian Countess. Vlad Tepes earned his reputation as the Impaler by placing his prisoners atop tall, pointed, greased stakes so that their tortuous deaths could take hours or even days. He was even credited with having the head coverings of visiting dignitaries nailed to their skulls when they failed to take them off when being presented to his court.

Gramps leaned forward with menace in his eyes. Small forms cringed. His voice took on a rough, spooky quality. Vlad Tepes was also known as Dracula, the son of Vlad Dracul. Dracul meant the dragon or the devil. This Romanian Dracula ruled Wallachia with an iron hand during the 1400's. He killed as many as one hundred thousand people during his reign of less than twenty years.

Jimmy was aghast. Wow, GI Joe never killed that many. He looked over at Tommy. And you thought he was bad. This guy must have had a dual machine gun.

He wasn't the only one, Jimmy. Remember the Countess Bathory. Gramps rung his hands.

She was called the Blood Countess, and is credited as the most prolific murderess in history, with at least 610 confirmed victims.

Young Amy shuddered. I don't want to hear any more, Gramps. She got up and ran to the door, but stood, hugging the casing, looking back with fear in her eyes. She had almost run out during the Wolfman story. Gramps turned back to the boys.

Her victims were young, large breasted virgins who were tortured and killed after taking jobs as servants in her castle. Elizabeth drank the blood of these young women and also bathed in it. She thought that the fresh blood had rejuvenating properties. The Countess, as well as her servant accomplices, undoubtedly was a person with an erotic blood lust whose sexual satisfaction could come only from blood. Jack the Ripper, in our own days, was similar to her.

Gramps rocked back and gazed at the large clock on the mantelpiece. That's not all of it, is it Gramps? demanded Orel. He was older than the other children, being ten. Gramps looked narrowly at him, aware of the real mean streak in the child. Torturing cats and bugs was reputed to Orel. ‘What effect will vampire stories have on him?' Gramps wondered.

No, that isn't all of it’s the mysterious and terrible qualities of both.

Everyone was held spellbound by the story. Re-emerging themes of pleasure and pain, master and slave, good and evil, which appear in all vampire stories, appeal to people on many levels.

The children's rapt attention as he spoke of the Bohemian Mora, who sucked human blood, made him feel he had hit the correct button. Many of the features of these shape-shifters, as they are sometimes called, came from mythology and legends that have been passed down through the generations.

Amy had crept back into the room and stood behind the boys. She was already an avid history buff and liked tales that were woven with historical backgrounds.

Amy, he addressed her directly. The ancients believed that vampires were made from a real creature that existed much the same as the ancient Romans believed that Romulus and Remus were raised by a she wolf. The Greeks also had their beliefs in the minotaur and the Theban's believed in the sphinx. Her eyes sparkled.

In times and cultures of warrior tribes that combined beliefs involving animals and the dead with the protection and rejuvenation of the community, vampirism and spirit possession enjoyed a rationalized function in the society. This rationalization was an attempt of the villagers to link the family with society and religious ritual, and appears primarily in civilizations where the dead played an important part in the culture and in the religious beliefs of the culture.

Really, Gramps? Tommy sounded incredulous. He looked at Jimmy and Frank, then back at Gramps. Where did you learn all that?

Gramps smiled. History books are fascinating things, once you open the covers, Tommy. Let's go on.

I hate history. interrupted Orel. It's so dull and boring. He placed his finger in his mouth and imitated puke on the floor chair.

How would you know if you had just done something that was done before, if you didn't study your history book, huh, Orel? Are you going to repeat the past?

Orel's black eyes sparkled. I hope so. Especially if it makes me the one who kicks ass on everyone else. Orel poked at the other boys and started toward the door. Come on, I know where we can find beetles to feed to your frogs, Jimmy. The boys followed.

Amy stayed behind. Tell me again about all those people, Gramps. Did the living dead invade our world?

The living dead vampire is one of the oldest figures in the world. The idea of the dead feeding on the living is found in Ancient Babylonia and Assyria, in Egypt, Indo-China, Africa and South America."

The Finnish Lord of the Underworld. The other boys laughed but turned their attention back to Gramps.

Orel, you've got a lot to learn about life.

But it's a sure bet I'll not need your history books to get me what I want out of life.

How do you know? Gramps rocked back in his rocking chair.

Did he really kill that many people?

Fraid so, doll. Gramps lifted her onto his lap. Her blue eyes flashed as he began talking again about one of her favorite subjects – ancient history.

C3 WHAT REALLY HAPPENED AT THE PYRAMID?

Maggie looked over the side of the moss-covered ledge and shuddered. I could feel her trembling as she pressed her sweat covered body against mine. I tried to look past her but her grip on my arm shuddered her body back against mine.

They look like ants down there, she said. I tried to look past her but her grip on my arm suddenly overcame the feeling of world conquest flowing through my veins. We had arrived and conquered. Nothing could defeat the Warbird. Its lines and contours filled my heart with pride. No one stood between us and this lush, green planet.

Something brought me out of the intoxicated haze that seemed to infect my brain and reminded me of an important point - she was between me and the edge. Gently I maneuvered her around so she was behind me. The scene below was breathtaking. Standing there looking down into the jungle brought back all the mystical tales I had read about the pyramids.

Finishing the book Mystic Places was why we had jumped at the tour of Mexico. Maggie just had to see the ruins; really see them. That's why we were standing about three-quarters of the way up the side of one of the tallest of the Mayan structures.

It seemed to reach to the heavens themselves: Almost as if they actually could have held a spacecraft in tow.

For a moment he almost became one of those early spacefarers. Looking up at the golden bird anchored in the sky above, he again felt the presence and realized Maggie was moving further up the side of the pyramid, attempting to reach a high ledge that jutted out by itself.

She was yelling at me to follow her. He shook my head. Now he was not sure whether it was to clear it of cobwebs or to try to warn her from going onto the ledge she had in mind. But one thing became obvious - I would have to follow her.

Maggie was standing back from the edge, looking down at a large brownish stain that seemed to be part of the rock surface. It was more than part of the rock surface. It appeared to have been painted into the very pores of the basalt. What is it? she asked. I shook my head. I'd rather not think about it.

I struggled, my hands were tied. Someone was holding the gleaming claw of a hand high in the air. Far below I could hear the raucous cheering of a starved crowd. They knew the time was upon them to receive Mother Earth's bounty.

The Dragon-Lord motioned for those holding me to place me directly over the stained ground. Then he opened his mouth in a wide smile, to show the two hollow teeth that resided there. I shrank back against those who were pushing me forward. I would rather jump over the side myself than let him touch me.

He stepped forward and raised an arm toward the stack of heads of countless others who had wandered from their tribal boundaries. He looked straight into my eyes and told me what he was going to do. Your blood will spill and mingle with those before you. That is, what blood remains after I drink my fill.

The high priest gestured for those holding me to bend back my head, exposing the neck. His fangs sank deep. I could feel the blood being siphoned from my now lifeless body.

Maggie's voice came through a fog. I could hear her screaming something as she stumbled toward me.

Your heart I will have roasted tonight, and your worthless body will be thrown to the crowd below. You do understand, don't you? He stepped away from me and parried a look back over my shoulder. My guards were holding my head so I couldn't look at who was holding onto my arms and shoving me toward the priests standing near the edge.

One in particular caught my eye. His red skull-cap rimmed a malicious face. The blackish- blue tattoos of a Dragon Lord made both cheeks stand out; his lower face seemed sunken by what he was seeing. Oh, damn! They've arrived with your ransom. I guess we are going to have to set you free.

My legs almost folded under me. I lowered my eyes to the stones underfoot and sighed in relief. That is exactly when he struck. The blades on his fingers raced hot through both bone and cartilage and curved around a beating, frightened heart. His backward thrust ripped it out. He held it high above his upturned head, lapping the fresh blood dripping from it.

I stumbled toward the edge. Maggie grabbed at me. My deadened hands couldn't force her back. We were both falling.

That is the basis of my report, sir. I said to the being who was processing my paperwork.

When can I see my wife to know where I'm going?

He looked at me with a bored expression. Keep your shirt on pal. People are dying every day to get in here. Fill out this paperwork and wait for your number to be called.

C4 Creative Photography: Murder in the Mirror

‘They can't possibly convict anyone who can stay calm enough to take pictures during a fracas where he looks as if he is angry enough to kill her.’

The clinching picture for us jurors was what you saw, James Little acknowledged