Dance with Terror: A Collection of 50 Short Strange Stories-and a Selection of Poems

By Raj Napal

It grabbed her neck tight, slowly suffocating her as she gulped for air. (A Deathly Presence)

 

A child’s voice whispered to me. “…..help me escape this tomb. (A Good Night’s Sleep)

 

deep red marks of ligature….or…. branch strangulation adorned their

• Language: English
• Publisher: TOPLINK PUBLISHING, LLC
• Release date: Dec 27, 2017
• ISBN: 9781948262934

Raj Napal

Raj Napal was born in Port-Louis, Mauritius. He emigrated to Britain with his parents and siblings when he was eight years old. He was brought up in Cardiff in South Wales. Poetry was instilled in him while he lived in Wales. He obtained a law degree from Leeds University in Yorkshire and was a criminal defense barrister in London in the 80s and 90s. In 1995, he came to Ontario in Canada where he continued to practice law. In 2010, he commenced writing, but at that time, it was mostly poetry. In the last four years, his imagination took him into the strange world of the supernatural, horror and terror. He finds short stories particularly fascinating and "Dance with Terror' is a collection of stories in that intriguing genre. He continues to write poetry. He has self-published two books of poems, 'Salt and Sugar' and 'Food and Fruit' and hopes to compile a book of spiritual poems soon. He has also ventured into the field of crime-thriller serializations and supernatural adventures. Some are nearly finished and others are ongoing projects. He has two children, Joshua, and Helena. Raj, his children and their mother share a passion for reading and writing.

Book preview

Dance with Terror

A Collection of 50 Short Strange Stories—and a Selection of Poems

Raj Napal

Copyright © 2017 by Raj Napal.

Paperback: 978-1-948262-92-7

eBook: 978-1-948262-93-4

All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, distributed, or transmitted in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means, without the prior written permission of the publisher, except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical reviews and certain other noncommercial uses permitted by copyright law.

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Contents

Graduation Ceremony

Compassion

A Good Night’s Sleep

Satan’s Lair

The Bracelet

Magic and Miracles

Paltresi’s Tale

The Cold Light of Day

Screams of the River

Grief and Sobs

Devlin’s Corner

Black Flies

The Puzzle

Thoughts

The Oak Tree

The Dark Forest

The Suit

The Civilized Man

The Wineglass

A Cup of Spirit

Twin Reflections

Moods

The Party

The Hermit

The Outfit

A Disease Not a Curse

The Ring

Catching the Rain

A Peculiar Scent

Grains of Arsenic

The Attic

Revenge

Was He a Great Writer?

A Passion

The Gift

Murderous Intent

Mario’s Fate

Hell’s Nest

Out of Order

Spiders and Things

My Dear Pet

Bunny

My Study

Blind Sight

River of Death

Screaming Claws

Screaming Infidelity

Adultery

The Cell

Better Be

Parallel Planets

False Image

The Dravodians

Devil’s Commandment

The Duke of York

Spiritual Memories of Mother

The Heater

Witch’s Revenge

36 Hazard Way

Ghosts

Shark’s Teeth

The Water Fountain

A Deathly Presence

Evil

A Fatal Ring

Infestation

A Ghostly Presence

Life’s Hell

A Kind Deed

Their Demise

A Prized Footage

Deathly Scent

A Roller Coaster Ride

Red Grass

A Sweet Gift

Dad’s Deception

An Eerie Virus

His Id

City Slick

The Huntress

Who is Peeking at You?

Never Too Late

Business as Usual

Four is Better than Two

Deliverance

Frankenstein’s Monster

Devil’s Curse

A Prayer to God

Goody

Three for a Day’s Feast

Anna

Engagement to Death

Leather Boots

Uncle John’s Message

Manhole

Mad Mood

Rudolph—My Neighbor

The Beginning

Unfaithful

A Small Cup of Blood

Introduction

Terror takes many forms, and in this collection of short stories, there are all kinds of them—weird possessions, ghosts, and mysterious things. Horror, the occult, mysticism and the supernatural fascinates me as I write my next fifty strange stories.

There are riddles the readers will have to solve and many for them to think about. Sometimes the twists and turns, the mystery, and the unanswered questions can be stimulating.

The poems present a philosophical, spiritual and sometimes satirical look at our society.

I also ponder over the human condition, nature, the conflict between good and evil as well as our emotions.

The deep love that parents have for their children in The Duke of York is reflected in the poem, Spiritual Memories of Mother. The abuse of the cabin boy in Shark’s Teeth with the mystical elements in that story is akin to the torment of the black beggar woman in the poem, The Water Fountain. The werewolf who wanted savior in Deliverance with the search in his soul for goodness is mirrored in the plight of the creature created by man in the poem, Frankenstein’s Monster, who suffers the pain of being cast out from society through his deformity.

There is also the poem, Magic and Miracles of the delight of life after the chance of a new beginning for man in the tale, The Bracelet. We contemplate God and nature as the drops of rain touch us in the poem

Catching the Rain, after the beginning of a new world at the end of the tale, The Ring. I hope the readers will enjoy these poems and the others that’re in Dance with Terror.

I dedicate this book to my children, Helena and Joshua, whose inspiration and love drove me on. They figured in some of my stories. Their great encouragement and support kept me going. I also thank their mother, Susan von Achten, who provided invaluable insight when she reviewed the stories and poems.

Other family members—my niece Laura, her husband Sam, my brother Robin, my sister Rita, my stepdaughter Alexandra, my nephew, Jesse and my sister-in-law Sharon Lee-Williams read my stories and poems, giving me wonderful feedback. Thanks for making this modest offering of tales and poems happen. I also thank my colleagues—Aon Grant, Manny Hundal, and Carey Blake, who patiently struggled with me while I wrote this odd bunch of musings, spurring me to complete this book.

Finally, I thank fanstory.com. The many great writers-reviewers on this superb site provided much-needed and priceless criticisms of my work, which I hope led to a more palatable product. I’m deeply grateful to Brooke Baldwin, Tom Treischel, Dean Kuch, Michael Kelso, Monica and Marilyn and other brilliant writers/ reviewers on that site for their invaluable insight and immense encouragement.

Thank you for reading these short stories and poems. I hope you like them as much as I enjoyed writing them.

Raj Napal

Brampton, Ontario

June 26, 2015

Graduation Ceremony

I had an important meeting on the tenth floor of that building on Bay Street.

I was in the elevator with three other people, two ladies and a gentleman. I was in a rush to get to my floor. On the third floor, the elevator got stuck. I pushed the panic button, but the damn contraption wouldn’t move. It was stuck.

We panicked. There was absolutely no way of talking with people inside the building or the outside world as our cell phones wouldn’t work.

Then suddenly, everyone started talking about how we could possibly survive in this hopeless situation. Alice, the younger of the two ladies, slim, with dark hair and a pretty face, screamed out, What the bloody hell is going on? We’ve been in here for an hour, and nothing is happening! I can’t use my cell phone. My career is on the brink, and I must attend that meeting.

Tom, a man in his late fifties, with a large beer belly and balding gray hair, intervened, This is not about you, young lady. We all have important appointments, not just you.

I could see trouble brewing as I glimpsed a spark of anger in Alice’s eyes.

Look, we’re all very upset by this situation, but we must be strong and find a way out, so let’s be positive and try to get out of this mess, I quickly said, hoping I could calm them down.

I felt energy and adrenaline flow through my veins in my iron determination to get out of this hellhole.

They all nodded.

I could see there was a grate of sorts above us. Perhaps if I could climb there and open it, we could figure out a way to escape from this trap.

We were all finding it hard to breathe. The air seemed thin. I didn’t want them to panic more by telling them that the air going down the elevator might have been compromised. I kept quiet.

Tom was a tall man over six foot two, so I climbed onto his shoulders so I could reach the grate and open it.

I was terrified with what I saw! There was smoke everywhere. A catastrophe had occurred. The columns and pillars that held the elevator looked bent. I screamed inside. Was this building on the verge of destruction?

When I got back into the elevator, I could see questioning eyes from the group. This building is on the verge of collapse. We have to get out of here and climb down to ground level through the columns that hold this damn contraption, I told them.

Nancy, a stout blonde woman in her mid-thirties, started crying. I can’t do this. I am afraid of heights. I’d rather die here! she screamed out.

You must do this and I’ll be with you, or death is certain! I shouted back at her.

She agreed. Her frightened eyes said it all.

When I was on the lip of the grate, I assisted the others up. I told them to climb onto the teeth of the column. Each descending tooth was only eight inches wide, but there was enough space for a foothold. I told Nancy to look at me and not down as I held her tight. I could see her still blue eyes staring at me in a trance!

The smoke was almost suffocating us, and it became more intense as we slowly climbed down. Alice was losing her breath. I’m choking, please help me, she cried out in panic.

I clambered toward her and put a handkerchief across her face. It seemed to work. I feel better, but I don’t know how long I can last, she said.

I gently wiped the tears from her face. We will be okay. Just have faith in God, I said, barely able to control my own emotions in this crisis.

There were faint screaming sounds coming from the floors above! It was eerie and sent a chill through my spine. I could see the others were frightened too. Tom looked really scared as he screamed out, What kind of sound is this? It’s creepy!

Keep quiet! Can’t you see you’re frightening them even more? I shouted back.

We courageously continued our descent into this dark pit.

When we arrived at the ground level, we were wet with sweat. We could see a small opening and squeezed out of it.

When we came out, there was a mass of milky cloudy smoke in the concourse of the building. We ran for the exit, and as we did so, a group of firemen greeted us and escorted us outside.

We sucked the clean, pure air in deeply, relieved at being alive.

This was an overwhelming experience for all of us, and sharing it brought us closer together. We swapped phone numbers. You’re my good friends, and I cherish that. My daughter is graduating tomorrow. I would like you guys to come. I know my little girl will be so happy that you helped her dad through this ordeal, I said with a smile.

There was a warm and radiant smile upon their faces as they accepted the invite. We huddled together and hugged each other. There was a special smile on Nancy’s face as she looked deeply into my eyes, and I knew that we’d share a great friendship!

Ten minutes later, when we were about half a mile from the building, it exploded into a rage of fire.

The next day, the newspaper reports said that a severe electrical fault caused the fire and that one hundred and sixty-eight people died, perishing in the flames from the fourth floor to the fifteenth level!

How and why we survived was a mystery to me, but I had a dream that night that made some kind of sense, and I cried. In the dream, a bright light glowed from His hand as He gave the diploma to my daughter while I held my little girl close to me.

God didn’t want me to miss her graduation and performed a miracle to save us!

But why did so many other souls have to die? I’ll never know!

Compassion

Daughter’s sweet innocence, now eighteen.

Full make up and dyed hair--red and flowing.

Lips stained with lipstick her boon.

Dances in our home, her beauty radiant and glowing.

In ages past, just a baby in Dad’s arms sucking on her soother

As Dad fed her with milk and honey in her life after she emerged from womb.

Baby girl now grown up, ready for life’s adventures.

Ready for foray in world’s splendor.

Leaving her old man’s retreat and paternal comfort.

His face wet with tears in dark gloom.

Helena with her beauty, brains, wit and brandishing that clear pearl white smile

Will conquer the world in her deep devoted humanity, compassion and care.

Protecting human rights in vigorous journeys,

Embracing the good and crushing evil in her stride.

Dad proud of his girl’s endeavors in this cruel world.

His spirit and that of God by her side to avoid the Devil’s snare.

And Dad wouldn’t miss her graduation ceremony in a million years.

Forever grateful to God he was there and shed the tears.

A Good Night’s Sleep

That’s what you get for being a student, Alan. No money. Just damn books you have to read and boring lectures you’ve got to bleeding attend.

Come on, Pete. Are you telling me I have to suck it up? I can’t even afford a bed to sleep on in this crummy apartment.

There’s an old antique shop near campus where they sell old furniture dirt cheap. Go there and have a look, Alan.

The criminology class finished at three in the afternoon, and I biked down to Haggerty’s Antiques. It nestled between an ice cream shop and dry-cleaners in the old part of Leeds, where the streets were narrow and cobbled. The sky was gray, and the dark clouds cast an eerie gloom that winter afternoon. There were no pedestrians about, but Haggerty’s store was lighted up, and I could see the shadow of a tall willowy man bent over the pink light of an old lamp.

I walked in, hoping I could grab a bed for fifty pounds. I knew it was unlikely, but it was worth a try.

As soon as I stepped in, a thin man approached me with a glint in his deep gray eyes. He wore a wry smile. I was distracted by the glimmer of the gold, silver, and shiny mahogany of the stuff he displayed.

My heart beat fast when I observed him. He must’ve been over ninety. His face was all wrinkled up. His thin lips were barely discernible. A mass of gray hair that looked like a wig partially swooped down over the upper part of his eyes. The man wasn’t just thin—he was emaciated. His large pale hands were bony, with long fingers and blackish nails. He had a bad stoop but partially straightened up. So, young sir, what can I do for you? I’m the owner, Thomas Haggerty, he said with a strange smile, which showed his rotten yellow teeth.

I accidentally bit my lips as I was about to utter a response. Such was my nervous apprehension. I was about to run out, but his voice was soft and melodious, a complete contrast to his devilish body and face.

I’m looking for a bed. I’d like to look at the cheapest you have as my budget is tight.

He ran his skeletal fingers through his wig-like hair and laughed. Well, I have a bed that was manufactured in 1890, over 114 years ago. The maker of the bed was Simon Craysmith. He invented the first box base for a mattress.

He invited me to the back of the store. The bed was a monstrosity. But when I sat on the mattress, it was quite bouncy.

This bed is large, measuring seventy-seven inches long by twelve inches deep and five feet wide. I can give it to you for sixty pounds, Haggerty casually remarked.

If it’s such an old antique, why is it cheap, Mr. Haggerty? I curiously replied.

Craysmith died at an early age, and there was some mystery surrounding his suicide. All the furniture he made fell into disfavor. They also found flaws in his designs, but this bed, although big, is pretty solid.

I sucked my teeth and stuck my finger in my right ear, a bad habit that I had whenever I was nervous. I thought that it was just a bed. Who cares if it’s big and ugly even if the maker of that thing met a mysterious and tragic death?

Can you sell it for fifty quid? That’s all I have, I asked Haggerty.

Sure, no problem as long as it’s cash, and you don’t need a receipt. I don’t have a refund policy, so you’re stuck with it.

I had no class the following morning. I arranged for Pete to come to my apartment in his pickup truck to help me move the bed to my place. I was at the door when he arrived, not wanting him to see me sleeping on the floor of the bedroom.

K, let’s get cracking, Alan. I have to be in class at eleven, and it’s already ten now.

When he arrived at Haggerty’s shop, his vehicle came to a screeching stop. When he saw the bed, he stared at me. This sure is a big bad bed.

It’s comfortable, Pete. That’s all that matters.

He helped me put the bed up in my bedroom. As we stood the thing up on the floor, there was an odd creaky noise coming from the base. Pete noticed it too.

What’s that, Alan? he said and appeared shocked.

I haven’t got a clue.

The sound stopped, and we didn’t think any more of it.

I’d played an exhausting game of squash in the league competition that afternoon after class. When I got home after seven thirty at night, I was exhausted. After supper, I retreated to my bedroom. There was a harsh wind hammering the windows