The Devil In the Details

By Colin S Douglas

A collection of six terrifying short stories, beginning with a young boy who is afraid to wake his mother and ending with a mysterious black rose.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Lulu.com
• Release date: Sep 10, 2016
• ISBN: 9781365389443

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The Devil In the Details

THE DEVIL IN THE DETAILS

BY

COLIN S DOUGLAS

COPYRIGHT INFORMATION

©2016 All Rights Reserved

No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted, in any form or by any means without the written permission of the publisher, nor be otherwise circulated in any form of binding or cover other than that in which it is published and without a similar condition being imposed on the subsequent purchases.

ISBN: 978-1-365-38944-3

All characters in this publication are fictitious and any resemblance to real persons, living or dead is purely coincidental. Places, likewise, are fictitious or used in a fictitious manner.

THANKS

Before I take you down a path from which you may not return as the same person, I would like to thank my wife, Lynne, for her support of my writing, and for her invaluable input. I would also like to thank my good friend, and fellow writer, Lorne McMillan for his own input, which has helped me greatly, but more importantly for his help in motivating me to write again. And finally, I would like to thank you, my faithful reader. Please sit back and enjoy.

DEDICATION

For Lynne, Amber, Kelly, and Elliot, without whom I would be that creepy guy who argues with his shadow.

Letting Go

Darrel March crept into his mother’s room, still undecided as to whether or not he should wake her.  Although it was already close to noon on a Sunday and she had promised him a trip to the zoo, he knew that if she were now in a different mood it would not be wise to get her up.

As he stood beside the shapeless mass in her bed he imagined himself already at the zoo slipping into the lion’s den and prodding the sleeping king of the jungle with a stick.  The image was so vivid that it completely consumed his sight.  Then, just as quickly, it was gone, his heart still racing after a genuine fear of being eaten.

This was not uncommon for Darrel.  He often saw, felt, heard, and smelled things that weren’t there—hallucinations, he was told.  Sometimes, as with this particular incident, he immediately recognized them for what they were.  Other times, such as that very morning, when he woke up to a tall, dark figure towering over his bed, he wasn’t so certain.  He had run in terror then.

Now in his mother’s room, he forced himself to breathe slowly, but his heart was still quick.  While he calmed himself, he looked away from his mother and toward the side-table.  Her half-empty mug of tea sat properly on its coaster beside her pill-bottle.  The bottle was empty.  This made sense because she had just gotten her prescription refilled yesterday.  She must have taken the last pill from the old bottle last night.

He edged forward and looked down at the unconscious expression on his mother’s face.  He heard air pass into and out of her nostrils and saw her chest rise and fall.  Clearly she was very deeply asleep, because Darrel counted seven flies crawling across her cheek, nose, forehead, and neck.  There was probably nothing Ebony March hated more than flies. 

He shooed them away for her, and they scattered temporarily.  Two landed back on her face, one on her hand, and a fourth landed just at the base of Darrel’s nose. It tickled slightly.  When he swatted at it, the fly did not move, and yet it was not crushed by the blow.  It continued to crawl up between Darrel’s eyes, tickling him as it went.

He was still hallucinating.

With practised concentration he made the fly disappear.  Then, with a sigh, he turned from his mother and cautiously stepped toward the door. It was best to let her sleep.

What are you doing in my room! his mother’s voice demanded just as he had placed one foot into the hallway.

Darrel spun to face her, stepping completely through the door to the other side as he did so.  He looked silently at his mother, fear gripping his face like a stuck mask.  She was sitting upright now, the white blanket covering her lap and her nightgown, wrinkled and filthy, covering her extra large bosom.  Sweaty, tangled hair stuck to her forehead and cheeks.  Her cheeks were puffy and wrinkled, and extra flesh hung loosely from under her chin.

Her eyes looked fierce.

Still afraid to answer, Darrel focused on the flies that continued to crawl on her face.

"Answer me, you dumb little bastard!"

I…I…I… he struggled for the words as his mind raced with possible punishments.

"I, I, I, she repeated mockingly.  Spit it out, goddammit."

Mommy loves me, Darrel mentally insisted to himself.  It’s just her sickness talking.  Mommy still loves me.  Mommy still loves me.  Later she’ll be different.  I was just wondering about the zoo.  If you don’t want to go anymore, it’s okay.  I was just seeing if you were awake.  I didn’t mean…

Do I look like I’m in the mood to go to the fucking zoo today?

No, Mom.  That’s why I was leaving you alone.  I didn’t mean to wake you.

Didn’t mean to wake me, eh?  Her eyes began to turn red.  Then there was fire in them. Darrel literally saw twin fires dancing on the surface of her eyes.

Suddenly, her mouth opened as wide as it could.  Then it opened wider than was possible, and a long, thin, forked tongue waggled out the middle of it, followed by a fat snake’s head.  The snake continued to flow smoothly from the opening.  It moved quickly toward him, not seeming to have a tail but just a never-ending body leaving a bottomless stomach.  His mother’s lips split and bled as they were forced further apart, and the snake kept coming.

Darrel screamed.  He screamed louder and higher than he’d ever remembered screaming before, but was totally petrified as the snake came to within inches of his nose—and vanished.

He was hyperventilating now as he looked back toward his mother’s bed, where she continued to sleep peacefully.  Tears ran down his face, and he sobbed loudly while running into the living room where his mother would not hear him.

Drawing tended to calm Darrel.  It seemed the only time he was truly at peace was when he was creating something, whether it be crafts or Lego buildings or simply filling in a colouring book.  As he finished his thirty-eighth picture, he looked out the window and saw by the dying light that he had spent the entire day drawing.

Where had the time gone?

After a few moments’ hesitation, Darrel scooped up his drawings and started crossing the living room to his mother’s bedroom.  His pictures always tended to make Mom feel better.

The door creaked open.  She was still sleeping.  He crept forward and got up onto the bed beside her.  Mom?

Her eyes opened, and she smiled up at her boy.  Hello, honey. What time is it?

He glanced over at the digital clock beside her bed.  7:30.

Her face dropped into an expression of sadness.  "At night?  Oh, my goodness, honey.  I’m so sorry about