The Attic Door: 13 Tales of Terror

By Joseph L Zbiegien

The Attic Door: 13 Tales of Terror is the first collection of short stories from Up and Coming Horror author Joseph L Zbiegien. In this suspenseful collection, Joseph L Zbiegien creates 13 dark tales of Murder, Horror, and the Macabre. Your trip begins with an Evil Old woman watching the world from her wheelchair and preying on the youth of the children around her. From there we find out why it isn't safe to wait up for Santa Claus. Before the trip is over is over you’ll meet a boy born with a pumpkin for a head, find out about the dangers of over eating, and take the road trip from hell.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Lulu.com
• Release date: Feb 8, 2015
• ISBN: 9781312903944

Book preview

The Attic Door: 13 Tales of Terror

The Attic Door: 13 Tales of Terror

A Selection of Short Stories

By

Joseph L Zbiegien

Copyright © 2015 by Joseph L Zbiegien

All rights reserved. This book or any portion thereof may not be reproduced or used in any manner whatsoever without the express written permission of the publisher except for the use of brief quotations in a book review or scholarly journal.

First Printing: 2015

ISBN 978-1-312-90394-4

Bloody Thumb Productions

9785 Douglas Lane APT 201

Olmsted Falls, Ohio 44138

Table of Contents:

The Attic Door

The Feast of Saint Nick

A Quick Trip

The Boy With the Pumpkin Head

The Mummy of Dunwich Street

A Midnight Swim

Pigs.

Darkness and Light

A Glass of Water

WANTED:

"a wonderful life…"

I Win

The Curious Death of Mister Chaney

Afterword

The Attic Door

1

Through her window, Mabel could just see the children playing in the yard next door. They were playing tag, or some variation of it. It was usually the blonde one, Matthew Harper, in the center with his face covered by his arm as he leaned on the tree. He would count to twelve and run around the field, looking for the other kids before tagging them. If they made it back to the tree in time, they were safe. The way the kids laughed and ran about, Safe was obviously very important to them.

Her lips moved as she counted to twelve with the harper boy. It was slow, and for that she was grateful. She couldn’t keep up with the faster kids. She liked to count with them, pretend she was still part of the game. It helped her to remember what it was like to be young again.

Tag was not her favorite game they played. She loved when they played baseball. Her mother had taken her to the city once or twice to watch the games. She loved watching those athletic men run around the field. They looked so graceful. Baseball always made her think of her mother, and the way she watched them.

That wasn’t the only reason she liked baseball though. She liked that when they played baseball, sometimes the ball would come over the fence and land in her side yard, between the rose bushes. The fence was too high for the children to climb, and the gate was always kept locked.

So if they wanted their ball back, they had to come up to the door and knock. Then Mabel would have to escort them through the house over to the side yard. She’d get to talk to them for a few moments. She’d ask about their parents, or school. Whatever kept them talking, whatever kept them close to her. She loved to hear their young voices as they walked through her house. She loved hearing their steps as they walked across her wood floor.

A house needed the sound of children, her house especially. A child’s laughter, and a child’s love was like blood to a house. It kept it alive.

She was in a wheelchair and had been for years. It was good to hear their footsteps. It reminded her that whole world wasn’t wrapped in rubber. She longed to feel that wood beneath her feet again. Even better, the grass. To walk across the grass and feel it-between her toes. Heaven.

The kids though, they didn’t like coming up to her door. They saw her as a bit of a ghost story. The weird old lady who lived in the big old house all by herself with the strange lights in the attic. The strange sounds at night.

Upstairs, beyond the hallway, beyond the attic door, she could hear them moving around. All of them. It made her smile. Soon, she thought. Soon.

Outside though, the kids were playing tag. It looked like it was going to rain, so no baseball today. Still, maybe something would happen and she’d get to talk to one of them. If only she could get the Harper boy into her house. The things she would do to him.

She sucked on her dentures as she thought about him. His ears must have been burning because at that moment, he stopped chasing the Davis boy and looked up at the large house. He shivered like a goose had walked over his grave.

Good, she thought. She raised her right hand, her good hand, and waved at the boy. He pretended not to see her and ran off after one of the smaller kids. But he wasn’t the only one watching, Mabel noticed. Off to the side Daisy Walker sat, looking up at the house while she brushed her dolls hair. Mabel smiled at her, and blew her a kiss.

Daisy was raised to be polite, so she smiled back and went back to brushing her dolls hair. Daisy wasn’t old enough to play with the older kids. She was just out of kindergarten and waiting to start school proper. Her brother, Thomas, who was currently hiding under an old trailer, was supposed to be watching her. He was twelve, and didn’t have much use for her. He didn’t seem to have much use for anyone.

Daisy frowned. The woman in the window smiled at her again, and waved. She seemed pleasant enough. The old grey woman in the brightly colored house. The woman was waving at her, trying to get her to come. He parents had always told her never to go with strangers, but they had also told her to be polite. Besides, she knew Mrs. Cotton as well as she knew any adult.

While the adults and the big kids went to the main room for church, they took Daisy and the other little kids to a special room and taught them about the bible. Mrs. Cotton had been teaching Bible studies at the church for as long as anyone could remember.

It would be rude not to respond to your teacher, so Daisy sighed to herself and started to walk across the field, more of an empty lot on the corner, towards the old house. It was a busy street, full of houses. The lot the kids played in was the only open one. No one knew who owned it, But Thomas and some of the other kids all said that Mabel Cotton did. They said she bought it so she could look at all the kids.

Thomas said she used to touch the kids, but Daisy didn’t know what that meant. Lots of people touched kids. Her mother had just touched her before she went out. She had reached out and brushed her hair out of her eyes. Didn’t seem like that big of a deal to Daisy.

Mabel worked her wheelchair away from the window. Good, the little girl was coming. She could feel the door above her in the dark begin to pulsate. It was hungry. She was hungry.

The wheelchair worked its way through the grooves in the floor to the door. She had traveled the floor so many times, even her rubber wheels had begun to wear trails in the hard wood. The door opened as little Daisy began to climb the steps.

She was almost there, almost within reach, but that damn boy. She would have been hers if the brother hadn’t called out.

Daisy! Thomas Walker yelled out, We gotta go!

Coming, Tommy! She yelled back before curtsying to Mabel Cotton and running back across the lot.

Damn it, she thought. So close, but that was when she saw him. The other boy. The rain clouds had begun to gather overhead, and their lightening graced the sky. The games were breaking up, and the children were going home. They’d run away and hide until the weather cleared up.

Now though, the boy was hesitating as he walked by. He looked up at the old woman sitting in her wheelchair in the entrance to her house. It was sad really, Matthew always felt bad when he looked at her. His parents told him she had been in the chair for years. Her hair was gone, and she wore a grey wig. She had to be in her eighties or nineties, but Tommy Walker made as if she were ancient. Tommy said she had always been here and always would.

How is school going, Matthew? She yelled down the path way to him.

Fine, Ma’am, He shifted from foot to foot, uncomfortable. Something about the way she was looking at him. Something about the way she rubbed her dead left hand with her good right one. At that moment, he didn’t care where he was, just as long as she couldn’t see him.

He started to walk away.

I miss you in the Bible study class, Matthew. She pulled her way out onto the front porch so she could get a closer look at him. You always took things so seriously. Not like most of the kids. Not like little Thomas Walker.

Yes, Ma’am, He smiled. Tommy’s my friend. My mom says he’s a handful, but I think he’s a good kid.

Yes, She nodded as her tongue wetted her lips. A handful. Good way to describe that one.

Yes Ma’am, he smiled and gave a little wave as he started to walk away.

Oh, Matthew, she called him back. Before you go, I could use some help really quick inside. In the kitchen. A can rolled under the table and I just can’t reach it. If you could help me?

He looked down the street towards his home. I really shouldn’t, the rain is about to start.

Matthew! What would your mother say? She began to turn back towards the house in disgust. I should call her. A poor old woman asks for help and you’re afraid of some rain. I thought you were better than that.

A smile stretched itself along her thin lips as she heard him sigh behind her and begin to walk up the steps. When in doubt, threaten to call a kids mom and they’ll do whatever you want. 

Sorry, Ma’am, He hurried to her side, I just hear it’s going to be a bad one.

I Understand, She smiled, We will make this quick.

Outside, the lightening ripped to sky apart as the rain began to fell.

Daisy Walker looked back over her shoulder as the boy walked into the house and frowned. She paused, she wanted to go back, but her brother hurried her on.

2

It was cold in the Attic and Matthew could hear her, in the darkness somewhere, breathing. He remember walking into the kitchen, the old woman softly rolled up behind her. He remembered her hand on his shoulder, then the other hand. That was when his head had gotten a little wispy. The room swelled around him as his eyes began to grow tired.

Then he felt her breath, on his neck. Breathing in his ear. Then her tongue on the back of his neck, that was when it all came crashing in on him. The last thing he remembered was the slimy feel of her tongue crawling up the back of her neck and her fingers massaging his shoulder as he passed out. It was as if as soon as he touched her, he couldn’t move.

Had he been paralyzed with fear, or something else? He couldn’t remember, he didn’t know for sure.

When he finally opened up his eyes, he was here. Wherever here was. He wasn’t sure. He wanted to crawl out into the room, but couldn’t. He was too scared. He was safely hidden behind a pile of boxes and planned on staying that way.

The breathing, though, and the voices. He could hear muttering in the darkness around him and the dull rasp of someone’s ragged breath. Above it all, he could hear the sound of the rain as it hit the roof above his head.

Something moved. He caught it out of the corner of his eye.

At first he couldn’t tell where it was coming from, the darkness just seemed to pulsate at the edge of his vision. As his eyes became adjusted to the darkness, though, he began to make out a shape near the wall. Someone was watching him. It was the eyes he saw first. They pierced through the darkness and seared into him.

The shape was small, much smaller than the old lady had been. It was a child, some kid just like him. He had dark hair and looked like he hadn’t eaten in weeks. His hand shook as he slowly waved at Matthew, beckoning him forward.

Who are...?

Shhh, the boy clasped his long boney finger over his mouth. She’ll hear you, you don’t want her to find you. He whispered.

Matthew crawled across the floor towards the boy. As he moved out from behind the boxes he took the opportunity to look around the room and soak it all in. He was pretty sure he was in an attic. That made the most sense. He could see an old rocking chair, a chest or two. There was a couch in the corner and an old birdcage. For a moment he stopped to wonder why everyone seemed to have an old bird cage in the attic, but the boy hissed at him and made him move forward.

Plus it had that smell. That attic smell. It was a mixture of dust, sweat, and feces. Every attic he had ever been in had that same smell. This was worse though, stronger. He could taste the odor on his tongue, and feel it on his skin.

He looked for the windows. If he was still in the old lady’s house, she had windows. He knew she had windows at the top of her house facing in all four directions. Maybe if he got to one he could…

Hurry up! the voice hissed at him. You don’t want to stay in the open for too long. She could come back at any time.

Matthew dodged behind the old sofa the boy was watching him from. He was surprised to see that the boy wasn’t alone. Another boy and a young girl sat in the darkness beyond, clutching each other. He recognized the boy instantly. Derek?

But it couldn’t be could it? Derek Carmichael had disappeared years ago, and he was older then Matthew. This kid, he looked like he was eleven or twelve. The Derek he knew had just turned twelve, right before he disappeared.  A full year younger then Matthew was now. That was years ago. His Derek would be sixteen. This couldn’t be him.

The boy looked at the ground and shuffled his feet. He looked back up at Matthew, confused.

What’s going on? Matthew asked.

You’re going to die, the first boy shrugged.

3

The house seemed to be watching Daisy Walker as she stood in front of the vacant lot. She smiled softly to herself as she thought back to those days, years gone by, when she and her brother used to play in that abandoned lot.

Now though, it was empty. You could still trace the lines in the dirt where the kids had run back and forth, and the old tire that was the pitcher’s mound still sat in the center. Now though, it was overgrown. She suspected the kids hadn’t played in that yard in a long time.

It was sad, in a way. Some of her favorite memories were right there. So many memories. She used to pick flowers in the back of the yard behind the old tool shed with Mandy Keller. Years later, she made out with Eddie Raymond on the same spot. He was such a nice boy, even if he did always smell vaguely of pumpkin pie.

That was before Mandy went missing though. And Matthew and Derek, and before Tommy disappeared into the woods. The Mill was a small town, and it had more then it’s fair share of missing children.

Daisy didn’t want to come back here, but who knew Steve was going to turn out to be such a dick. Her mother had warned her of course, but her Mother warned her about every guy. Every guy was either a liar, a cheater, or a wife beater, she would say. A strong enough woman didn’t need a man to protect her.

Granted, she thought Daisy was weak. After Tommy disappeared she’d tell her how weak she was, and that the wrong child had gone missing. At the time, it hurt. She didn’t want to come back, and she prayed every night that her mother wouldn’t do to Cindy what she had done to her.

They didn’t talk much since she came home. Carol was a lonely old woman and enjoyed it that way. The only time she ever left the house was to go to church, and where she took over the bible study classes when Miss Cotton was forced to step down.

Daisy laughed to herself as she looked up at the old house. Mabel Cotton was a name she hadn’t thought of in a very long time. The old woman was probably in the house right now, watching her from the windows. It probably destroyed her to know the kids didn’t play in the yard anymore. She had spent so much time watching them. It seemed she was always watching them.

When Matty Harper disappeared, a lot of fingers got pointed. Many of them right at Miss Cotton. The last time the boy had been seen was when Daisy was six. She was the last one to see him alive. Tommy was leading her home for dinner, it was just about to rain when Daisy had looked back. She saw Matty at the steps, looking nervously down the road, and then he went in.

No one had seen him since.

The house looked different. The once proud roof was now cracked and the entire south side of the house was covered with ivy. The green paint that surrounded the windows was worn and weathered and the white paint was peeling. The garden was all overgrown and all the beautiful rose bushes were choked out with weeds.

When Daisy was young, Miss Mabel Cotton’s house was easily the most beautiful on the block. Now? It was hard to say what it was now, but it made her heart hurt whenever she looked at it.

A frown creased Daisy’s brow. Was there a movement? Two movements. First, a feeling came over her like she was being watched. Her eyes searched the house and the attic curtain fluttered just slightly. Then, the living room window. The curtain moved there as well.

She was sure she was being watched. It was unnerving. Suddenly she felt like she was six again, picking flowers in the garden while that creepy old lady in the beautiful house seemed to taste her with her eyes. Only now, the house was ugly. It was as if the house had become ugly to match the old crone’s wicked stare.

She shivered and began to walk again. School ended soon and she had to pick up Cindy.

4

Mabel Cotton spit on the floor as the woman walked away. She recognized her instantly. Little Daisy Walker all grown up. She had to be almost thirty. It was disgusting, all that wasted youth. The girl was so strong, and what did she do? She went and grew up. Why would anyone do that?

She licked her lips as she remembered what Daisy used to be. She pictured the little red ribbon in her hair and wondered what she had smelled like. She knew it had to be sweet. Little girls like that always smelled sweet. Like raspberries. Mabel loved raspberries.

Something shifted in the attic above her as she pulled her wheelchair away from the window. She could hear the boys upstairs. Playing, she hoped. They lasted so much longer if they played and had fun. Sometimes she left toys for them, but they would never play with them. Instead they’d do horrible things to them and leave them for her to find.

Ungrateful brats. Didn’t they know what she was giving them? She was saving them. They’d never turn into Daisy Walker. They’d never get old. They’d just fade away, young forever.

He was up there still. She knew it. The Harper boy. He wouldn’t last long. He was almost dry. He tasted so good, though… she didn’t want to finish him. She wanted him to wait as long as possible before she took him down off the shelf and tossed away his empty bottle.

Figuratively, of course. When she was done, there was nothing left to throw away. She needed to catch him, that boy was trouble. He was the last one in the attic though. So before he caught him and finished him off, she needed more. She needed to restock the larder, so-to-speak.

The house was falling down around her, and she with it. Now, when she wasn’t in the attic she could barely move at all. Her head hung down limply to her shoulder and she used her claw like right hand to move the electric wheel chair around the house. She couldn’t even use the restroom normally anymore.

Normally she just relieved herself in the chair. She could smell it. The ammonia stung her nostrils.

She needed someone, and she needed them soon. Otherwise she would just waste away into nothingness.

5

She was walking away. Matthews’s heart sank. She first started coming around a few days ago. He recognized her the moment he saw her. Little Daisy Walker, all grown up. He watched her grow up from the windows of the attic. He used to watch while she picked flowers while all the other children played. She never grew out of it. Sometimes she’d play with them, but usually it was the flowers.

She was gentler then the other kids. The kids in the Mill weren’t gentle. They couldn’t be, deep down inside they knew they had a monster watching them. Stalking them. Even if they hadn’t given her a name, even if they didn’t know she had a face, all the kids knew Mabel Cotton. Sure, some of them called her Bloody Mary, or thought she hung out on lover’s lane with a hook. But they all knew they had a monster, and they all knew their monster preyed on little kids.

The other kids, the ones that were here when he first entered the attic, they were gone. He watched from the rafters as she drank the last few moments of Derek’s life away. It looked as if she was breathing him in. He turned to dust and smoke and floated away on the night. The girl, her name had been Sofia, she lasted about a year or so more before she disappeared.

He never even found out the name of the first boy. The one who had called to him from the darkness, the one who had taught him the rules. He refused to give a name, he said he didn’t want to get too attached. If you got too attached then you began to care. If you cared, you got slow and then she caught you.

It had to be in the hundreds. The Number of kids she had killed. How long had she been here? It wasn’t just one life time. No one could do so much with one life time. She had to have used up several.

Never sleep.