Night Callers: Terrifying & Peculiar Tales, #1

By Robert Young

Night Caller... The words are not intended for the faint of heart nor for feeble minds. They conjure tales from deep in the night when the saintly sleep and evil creeps. In a land of dust and stones and rotting bones, he comes for you, spun from the stinking spawn of the damned. No one knows for sure whether man or beast, but they say he's more sinister than any beast could ever be.

This chilling collection brings to life some of the most horrifying stories of the supernatural world. Shedding light on the frightful things that walk in the dead of night, each of the 14 twisted tales will take you on an irresistible journey of terror.

Don't be surprised if it keeps you up well past your bedtime.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Robert Young
• Release date: Jun 1, 2021
• ISBN: 9798201646028

Robert Young

I'll tell you right off, I'm not someone who always wanted to be a writer. Heck, as a kid, I didn't even like reading! I'd rather play, and if there was a ball involved, that was even better. In the classroom, I'd be the squirmy one, looking out the window or counting down the minutes until recess. Oh, there were bursts of interest in writing along the way, especially when I could get up and read a funny story to the class. But, as I got older, writing became more of a chore, something to do for a grade. When high school graduation came, it was clear I wasn't going to be a major league baseball player, and I sure didn't want to fight in a war (Vietnam) that made no sense, so off to college I went. That's where I got excited about the power of words. Reading can take you anywhere, and it can teach you anything you want to know. I graduated in 1973 with a degree in education. Armed with my interest in words, I began teaching. The books my students read intrigued me, and it wasn't long before I was thinking I wanted to be a writer. I just didn't have a clue on how to go about it. So, I started small: letters to the editor, magazine articles, short stories, plays. Some of them even got published! My interest in nonfiction came after my son, Tyler, was born. Watching him explore the world with wonder ignited my own curiosity, which had somehow cooled over the years. That's when I started writing nonfiction. Nonfiction is about wondering, asking questions, seeking answers, and sharing them. The curiosity I rekindled still guides me as I write today.

Book preview

Dedication

This book is dedicated to my three girls,

Britanya, Renee and Courtney.

In the words of Euripides.

To a father nothing is dearer than a daughter.

Acknowledgments

This book would not be realized without the support and input of others, whether directly or indirectly, and it is with that spirit in mind I would like to extend my most sincere and infinite appre­ciation to my family and friends who played a part in its creation.

Thank you to Ryan Forsythe for his cover design and interior formatting.

Last but not least I want to say thanks to my Editor, Tracy Liebchen; your invaluable work is recognized and profoundly appreciated.

Contents

Dedication

Acknowledgments

Epigraph

The Night Caller

Speak No Lies

The Fountain of Youth

The Price of Winning

The Pine Tree Hotel

The Yellow-Haired Drifter

The Haunted I-10

The Ghost of Crooked Creek

Life of a Vampire

The House on Lilly Way

The Unfortunate Thief

The Therapist

Cats and Rats

God’s Land

About the Author

Recently Released

Epigraph

Life is a dream, realise it.

—Mother Teresa

The Night Caller

These words are not intended for the faint of heart nor for feeble minds. They spur tales from deep in the dead of night when the saintly sleep and evil creeps. In a land of dust and stones and rotting bones, he comes for you, spun from the stinking spawn of the dammed. No one knows for sure whether he’s man or beast, but many say he’s much more sinister than any beast could ever be.

A bleeding half-moon hangs in the sky, occasionally ducking behind the shifting gray clouds racing from one point to the next. They want nothing to do with the evil prowling down below. Insects and other creatures of the night whistle their mesmerizing music and cry their perilous cries.

Joe Baker lays with his arms on the meaty hips of his woman. Sue probably wasn’t the most beautiful thing you’d ever set eye on. Nonetheless, she was his woman, and a damn good and dedicated one for the last three years. He was tired and drained after laying it down hard on her earlier in the night. As they lay sleeping, neither of them has even an ounce of indication this will be the moment the night caller comes trampling to their door.

The dreaded sound of a horse’s gallop shakes the earth and makes the night go quiet. The crying noises from the nocturnal predators and prey lurking in the shadows go dead. The animal’s wild gallop gradually calmed to a canter, then to a screeching slow walk. The green-eyed rider raises the reins and halts the horse’s stride before the dwelling place of Joe Baker. He jumps from the saddle with a batlike slide, flapping the tail of his long, dusty black overcoat in the humid wind.

Sleepaway, you tired lovebirds; sleepaway, the dreaded night caller remarks in a wicked whisper.

These few words from the dark horseman signify a whole lot more than idle jibber or meaningless mockery. They spring the stains from the desolate and forsaken path of his travels. Powers from his abominable tongue are as potent as they are poisonous.

Joe can see the intruder enter the room, but beyond that, he can do nothing. Apart from his heart pounding in his chest and the feel of his lung pumping air, Joe can’t move a single hair on his body. The night caller moves closer to the bed and hoists Sue from her silent slumber by her thick black hair. Her frightful screams carry well beyond the dwelling, far into the nooks and crannies of the night. Joe gazes up into the dreamy green eyes of the heartless thing that stands over him. He tries desperately to move; he tries to holler Sue’s name, but his efforts accomplish nothing.

You already know who I am, and the reason I’m here, so there’s no need to get all worked up and cranky. I have no quarrel with you, Joe. It was your woman who lit the flames of my return. She sat upon the stone and reveled in the ritual of rebirth; she called my name. It is she who called. All I’m doing is answering her calls.

It was foolish of me. I didn’t believe that ridiculous legend of the night caller was true. Please, it was just a stupid bet. I didn’t know this stink you carry even existed, Sue pleads.

Look into my eyes and feel the power and strength of what you’ve summoned. Feel the swirl of lust broiling in the loins of the night caller.

Sue peers into the night caller’s eyes and instantly feels herself drifting away into him. Deep into the treacherous trenches of the graves and stones and tunnels from which he hales. He releases his grasp of her hair and sets her loose, but she remains at his side. As she moves, her fluffy breasts dangle and bounce before the rest of her rosy nakedness. The nasty night caller leans into her, sniffing the scent of her body. His eyelids curl and raise above his shiny green eyes. All the years he spent buried in the depths of the stones, all that lust for love, is flowing to its boiling point standing before her.

Sue’s wild stare of fright and fear starts to soften, then the appearance of calm and comfort lights her face like a ray of sunshine. She smiles at the great evil before her with a playful look of admiration. The night caller laughs with echoes of vulgar indulgence as he takes her to the floor and rolls on top of her.

Tears overflow Joe’s eyes like a broken dam as the raging night caller lays out his woman before him.

Ooh, yes, my dark caller of the night. Your wicked flames burn deep inside my brain. You need only to speak, and I will follow, Sue hollers from way down under the depths of his spell.

He has his scandalous way with her on the floor. When their noisy love play is over, he stands and brushes away perspiration from his forehead. Sue dresses and follows him as he moves toward the door. The devilish man from the stones turns to Joe with a sneaky jab of mockery, smiling back at him as they exit.

The sound of the horse’s hooves taking off in a mad rush makes Joe twist and rave in his mind. Minutes later, after laying helpless as a newborn infant, Joe finds life in his limbs once again. He rolls from bed to floor, reaching underneath for the rifle he keeps there. A wild sprint outside wearing only his underpants reveals the fading tail of darkness that remains in the most perilous night of his life. There is no trace of Sue nor the sneaky night caller. All that remains of him is the stinking smell of a swine that he carries.

None of this would have happened if I hadn’t challenged her with that stupid myth. How was I supposed to know anything about that foolish talk or that the accursed thing was real? To think that perverted devil ravaged my woman right there in front of me. Every awful thing he’s done to her is my fault, Joe says as he drops the gun on the bed. 

When daylight finally smiles over Gray Canyon, Joe’s horse is already packed and saddled. His rifle sits with the handle at the ready for a quick and smooth draw. 

Sue, just hold on. I’m coming to get you and cut down that devious devil controlling your mind.

The middle of June is particularly dry and sizzling this year; the sun’s rays scorch grass and turn them dirty brown. Those less-insulated animals often fall casualty to the furnace that surrounds them. Joe trots out on the spotted mare, following the deep tracks left behind by the night caller’s horse. For now, it is easy to follow, considering the weight of two people heavily laded the beast. Joe rides up to an old broken-down barn, dirty, gray, and as old as the ages.

Ty, get out here. Ty, you rotten skunk, Joe shouts.

Aye, hold down that damn racket. Can’t you see I’m trying to get my sleep? I paid good money for that rum. Don’t you think I deserve my money’s worth, to sleep and forget about this shithole canyon for a while? Ty replies, pulling back the rickety door that was partially off the hinges. 

Where is that old mule of yours? Saddle her up. We’re going for a ride.

Really? You and I both going for a ride like two old pals? Joe, how come you taking me for a ride when you always say I’m sick in the head? You always say I’m the biggest nutcase in Gray Canyon. Say it isn’t so, Ty argues.

That story you always told, the one about the night caller? Well, I always thought you were spitting drunken gibberish. So, I dared Sue to call him out, and she did. She sat on the stone and bellowed his name. Last night, he came and took her. Came with green eyes and powers from the grave.

So, now you think you’re going after her, going to bring her back? That will do you no good. Joe, your woman is as good as dead. There’s no coming back from his clutches for her. She summoned him, and now she belongs to him. With every passing day, he takes a little piece of her until there’s nothing left.

Damn right I am, and I’m going to gun down that swine-smelling skunk too. We have to save her. There’s still time; it’s not even a day yet. I’ll pay you two hundred if you help me on this. That’s enough money for a whole bucket of rum.

Won’t do no good if I’m dead. Can’t ever remember seeing a dead man drinking rum, Ty argues. 

Alright, you nasty coward; go back into your crumbling cave and drink yourself to death. See if that does you any good either.

I don’t want any part of this nasty gig; nothing at all to do with that night calling vulture. He’ll pick your bleeding flesh from its brittle bones and dine on it, Ty says. 

Precious time’s a wasting while you wallow in that senseless yapping. You want to get paid or not? Joe blurts angrily.

Two hundred, you say?

Yeah.

Kick in another twenty-five, and you’ve got a deal. Take it or leave it.

Alright, you greedy drunk. Find your mangy mule and let’s move, Joe says.

At seven o’clock in the morning, the sun is already roaring red, putting quite a scorcher on their skin. The swirling winds of dust busting loose across the stretch of barren land makes light the task of wiping out the trail they were following.

By late afternoon, they are tunneling through the canyon where the rocky mountainside rises high on both sides of the trail. Perspiration wets their clothes then dries on them, leaving sweat marks on them like whitewash. There is no trail left to follow and still no sign of Sue nor the dreaded night caller. The only sense of hope with them is the unmistakable smell of the swine drifting back at them on the tip of the humid southerly breeze. 

Do you smell that stink? That’s the nasty bugger for sure. Imagine that; almost three hundred years locked behind those stones. That’s, of course, if the legend is accurate, mind you, I’ve got no reason to think it’s not. That’s a whole lot of nights by himself without a woman. He’s probably shagging your sweet sexy Sue right now. You know, making up for lost time, Ty says, turning his face away from Joe.

You watch that tongue before I cut it from your throat. You stupid drunken skunk. 

I’m used to all them slanderous names you called me over the years. Mind you, without this drunken skunk, this is the last sunset you’ll ever see. He knows you’re gunning for his hide, and I’m sure he has no intention of giving up his prize, Ty says.

How come you know so much about this monster? Where the hell is he taking her?

Anyone who grew up around these parts as I did, especially with grandparents around, you quickly learn all there is to know about monsters. I figure he’s taking her through the very stones from which she freed him. Taking her onto the other side. If he makes it there, then you can kiss any chance of seeing her again goodbye.

They camp between the rocks, make a fire, and eat from the cans. As the night emerges, darkness drops its blanket above the canyon like a lid on a deep bucket. They roll poke and sip rum from a flask. Joe makes sure not to give Ty more than a swallow, understanding full well that anything more could easily thrust him into a wild drunken fit. Something that might prove fatal for them both. With blankets spread on the rugged ground and their heads resting on saddlebags, they gaze at the tiny slice of moon in the sky. 

Some say they find something beautiful in serenity and silence, but this night is certainly not one of those. In every humid whiff of breath they take, the taste of death draws closer and closer to their nest. From time to time, the blackness of the night seems to take shifting shapes of mythical monsters and creatures from the grave.

Joe pulls the rifle against his chest as he lightly fingers the trigger. His wide eyes take in what little he can see around the rim of the smoldering coal. Ty held his pistol so close it felt like a part of his skin. The feeling of fear is upon them, and no one in their right mind could blame them for it.

Laughter shatters the stillness from the rim of the canyon above them as the night caller signals his first visit of the night. Echoes bounce from one side of the valley to the other like a sounding board, rattling their nerves and chilling their bones in the process.

Joe rolls onto his back and cracks one from the rifle though he can see nothing out there. Sue screams in the distance.

No. Please, don’t shoot me, she pleads.

Joe, don’t fall for it. It’s a nasty trick. Don’t trust her, Ty said.

Huh! I came here to save her, not kill her. What do you want me to do, gun her down like a stray dog?

Hey, no need to take my head off. I’m just saying she’s not in her right mind, that’s all. You need to make up your mind if you’re going to die here tonight or take her home in the morning with you, Ty argues.

While both men trade different points of view on how to approach Sue, something thunderous breaks from the peak of the canyon. Another volley of wild laughter erupts as the night caller releases a giant boulder over the edge down at them, ripping its way through the darkness. He glides along the treacherous edges like a slippery phantom, slick and smooth as he