Ghostly Rites 2019

By Plaisted Publishing House

Plaisted Publishing House presents our latest Anthology: Ghostly Rites 2019, which is full of horror, humour, scares, and not for the faint-hearted. We are you to grab your copy and read it through on the darkest night and get the best fright for All Hallow's Eve.

Here to scare you this year is: Wendy Steele, Eve Merrick-Williams, Pamela J Silva, Mary R Woldering, Michael Lynes, M J Mallon, Karen J Mossman, Cathy-Lee Chopping, Lynn Mullican, Elizabeth Green, Claire Plaisted, Maddy Hag and Mara Reitsma.

Stories are written and edited in the English for the country said author resides.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Plaisted Publishing House
• Release date: Jun 15, 2021
• ISBN: 9781005787820

Plaisted Publishing House

Plaisted Publishing House was founded in May 2014 due to the need of one author wanting to help others get their books formatted and out into the market. We will format most types of genres from childrens, adults and even family history books. Please feel free to contact us.The self-publishing service we run, shows good quality formatting and if an author wishes management of their profile on smashwords. Our costing are low and it will be a pleasure to work with youBelow are some web-links of one of our first author and founder of this business.You can now find us on Pintrest!http://www.pinterest.com/rotosis/plaisted-publishing-house-limited/

Book preview

Plaisted Publishing House Presents

Ghostly Rites

2019

Copyright Ghostly Writers 2019

All Rights Reserved

No part of this book may be reproduced,

scanned, or distributed to any printed or electronic form

without permission.

Please do not participate in or encourage

piracy of copyrighted materials in violation of the author’s rights.

If you feel you have received a pirated copy

of this book, please remove it and purchase a copy legally.

www.plaistedpublishinghouse.com

www.facebook.com/plaistedpublishing

www.facebook.com/GhostlyWritesAnthology

Contents

Where the Streets Have No Name

Ghosts of Darkness

The Lighthouse

Dance of the Rising Bones

Who’s Afraid of the Dark

Charlotte’s Ghost

Whispers of Madness

The Changeling Princess

The Club Deceased

Primrose Point – Part Three

Dexter’s Creepy Cavern

Perchance to Dream

An Antique Heart

Author Links

Where the Streets Have No Name

Lynn Mullican

Angela saw the beauty in the doll despite the dirt and grime. The twelve-year-old picked it up, her dark hair falling in her eyes. She tucked her hair behind her ear and smiled, wiping the dirt off of the doll’s face. Green glass eyes stared back at her. The doll’s blonde hair had long, thin pink highlights, and it wore a white dress, complete with pink lace and ties that wrapped around its waist, reminiscent of a Southern Belle. It reminded her of the few good times she had at home, which as of recent, wasn’t much.

Lately, mom had been fighting a drug addiction, which started with a back injury from a car accident she was in, and when the prescription medication wasn’t enough for the pain, she moved on to harder drugs, thanks to the help of a friend. Dad had already been working long hours and tried to raise Angela by himself, but when things got worse, he moved out, into some hole in the wall joint, as he called it. He tried to take Angela with him, but despite her injury, mom put up a fight and had even pulled a knife on him, threatening to slice his throat if he took Angela away from her.

Angela tried to push the memory away, but it wouldn’t leave. Instead, tears welled over, dripping onto the doll. She wiped the dirt from its face and roamed the streets in search of her father.

At first, Angela thought she could help her mother by hiding the drugs, but that didn’t work. Instead, it only angered her mother. Angela’s mom lashed out, striking her, not just once, but twice. It was the first time her mom had ever struck her. Her mother started tearing things apart, ripping out drawers, throwing clothes, and cutting up cushions. It horrified Angela. Crying, she yelled for her mother to stop, and when her mother didn’t, she ran to her room.

Angela! Angela! Come here, you little bitch! How dare you hide Mommy’s candy!

Mom chased her, screaming. She struggled to shut the door but her mom struck it, throwing it open. Her mom’s face was pale, thin, daunting, and almost ghost-like. Her eyes were piercing as if stabbing Angela in the heart and soul.

She remembered the distinct thumping on the bedroom door as her mom beat on it and then burst into the room, tearing it apart. When she didn’t find the drugs, she turned to Angela and struck her again, repeatedly, drawing blood. That was when Angela realized she couldn’t help her.

For two weeks on the streets, Angela survived by eating and sleeping out of dumpsters. Dad had said the hole in the wall hotel was around the corner, so she assumed it was close, and searched the surrounding neighborhood for the hotel and her father. She was wary though, and afraid to approach those who were thin and daunting. They reminded her of her mother when she was on drugs, so Angela tried to avoid them, afraid of what they might do to her.

Would they be violent like her mom? Would they hit her?

She turned her attention to the street. One of the crazy homeless women sat in the shadows next to the café. There, she ate something indescribable, her eyes shifting from one vagrant to another, as she guarded her food.

Angela’s stomach churned. There may have been a time when she turned her nose up to food she hated, but not anymore. She learned from the homeless that she would have to fight for her food. Luckily, she was small and quick, but sometimes she lost to those who were stronger than her.

Alone, with nothing but the clothes on her back, she held the doll tight, her eyes searching the nearby park. Her stomach growled, reminding her she hadn’t eaten within the past twenty-four hours. She needed food, but water was what she needed most. Angela sauntered along the road, passing the cafe.

As she rounded the corner, the elderly homeless man whom she despised, stood there, zipping his pants up. Her eyes fell on the wall. A stream of yellowish liquid dripped down it, the scent of urine in the air.

Why, what do you have there, missy? he hissed through his missing teeth. He snatched the doll out of her hands.

No, that’s mine! she screamed.

He held it high as she jumped up and down, trying to grab it.

Give it back!

I haven’t seen you with this before.

Give it back! she screamed, her face red with anger. She had possession of it for less than two minutes before the old fart took it away. She wasn’t about to give it up.

How do I know you didn’t steal this? he chuckled.

That was it! Angela kicked him in the groin.

He howled in pain. As he bent over, she snatched it and took off running for the park, her arms wrapped tightly around the doll.

Once she was far enough away, she stopped to catch her breath. Her hair stuck to her sweaty face. She doubled over, winded, her heart beating fast in her chest. Then, she spotted the water fountain.

She glanced around. Nobody was in sight. She pulled her thin, worn sweater off as she walked up to it. Angela put her lips to the cool water and sucked it in, splashing the water on her face and chest. It was the closest she would get to a real bath.

Hey, would you mind sharing? I’m thirsty, too.

Oops! She stepped to the side; her head hung low. She waited for someone to approach it but no one did. She looked back. Nobody was in sight.

Then something wiggled her hand. Come on, hold me up. I can’t do this without you.

What? She turned. Again, no one. Angela held her hand up. The doll wiggled within her grasp.

Come on. Are we friends or what? the doll asked. Its face contorted, its eyes narrowing in on her.

Angela froze, a chill running up her spine.

I’m thirsty and while you’re at it, you can clean me up.

She dropped the doll, scrambling to get away, tripping and falling.

Now, that wasn’t nice.

She spun around. The doll stood, swathed in the dirty white dress.

No, no, you’re not real! Angela screamed. Dolls don’t talk.

The lips moved, and the voice, which was dainty, became gruff. But I am real, and I talk.

No!

As the moon rose behind the trees, the old fart appeared.

Who are you talking to, girlie?

No! Not again.

He staggered toward her. Angela glanced at the doll. It became rigid and dropped to the ground. The movement caught the old man’s eye. He gazed down at it, glancing back at her.

Well, now, I see you dropped your doll. He picked it up, holding it in the air. Would you like it back?

No, she whispered.

The doll winked at her.

What the…?

What are you going to give me for it? The dirty old man moved toward her.

What? She gazed up at him, scrambling to get to her feet.

I asked, what are you going to give me for it? I give nothing away for free, and seeing that possession is nine-tenths of the law, I think this doll is mine.

A gruff female voice filled the air. Would you like me to kill him?

The old man’s head spun. He turned in place, looking for the voice.

Who’s there? he asked, loudly.

Angela stared at the doll. She mouthed the word, no. Yet, the doll smiled at her, its lips peeling back to reveal jagged silver teeth. This wasn’t real. Dolls don’t talk. They don’t kill.

Then, the old man did the unthinkable. He held the doll closer to his face, studying it.

This is quite the find, girlie. It even talks. He glanced at her, laughing loudly. How did you do it? Record over the…

The doll latched on to him, biting his face.

What…!

He struggled to pull the doll off of him, but the more he pulled, the more his skin tore. He fought back harder, grabbing the hair of the doll, trying to pull it off.

She’s killing him! Run! Angela bolted, the wind whipping through her hair. She glanced back. The old man lay on the ground, the doll atop him.

Don’t look back! Keep running! As she ran, her eyes fell on the construction tape across the street. It sectioned off the land where the vacant warehouse was. Angela had slept there many times, so she knew where to hide. The doll wouldn’t follow her there. Right?

Another glance back. The doll stood next to the lifeless man, its eyes intent on her. Blood soaked the dirty white dress. No! It couldn’t…!

The doll ran toward her.

A rush of adrenaline shot through her, pushing her faster and harder. In the near distance, a car drove by. Bass thumped from the speakers.

Help! she screamed. Another glance back. The doll was picking up speed.

The car stopped, the bass drowning out her screams. Was she in luck? Her heart beat faster, her breathing labored. But what was that ahead of her? A mound of dirt in the park? Oh, yes, they were digging up pipes here. She forgot about that.

Another glance back. The doll was still after her, grinning, its jagged teeth exposed. Then, her foot caught on something, tossing her to the ground, face first in the dirt. She scrambled to her feet and ran up the mound, her shoe catching in mud. Mud? Wait, it was dirt, but now … who cares! Get your foot out of the mud!

Angela struggled to keep her shoe on, but as she pulled, she lost her balance, falling into the hole, and striking her head on a pipe. Why didn’t the construction workers put tape up here? Who cares! Get out of the hole! Get help!

She struggled to get to her feet, touching the wound on her head. Blood stained her hand. She was dizzy and lightheaded. Not eating for the past twenty-four hours didn’t help. As she stood, the doll ran up the mound and lunged for her. She took a step back, her bare foot slipping in the mud, tossing her back down to the ground, the doll atop her.

I don’t want to hurt you, it said with that dainty voice. Then it became gruff. I just want to be your friend.

Angela stared up at it, her eyes wide with fright. The doll’s lips peeled back, its hands grabbing at her shirt, lowering its face to hers.

No! she screamed. Get off of me!

She struggled with the doll but it had a death grip on her shirt. As Angela screamed, the doll’s hands gripped her by the mouth, pulling her lips far apart. It moved in closer, its mouth nearing hers. A dark cloud escaped its lips, entering her mouth. She shut her mouth to avoid it getting inside of her, but it was too late.

The doll then became rigid within her hands. As she threw it off, her body seized up, convulsing the muscles within her body jerking, as something overcame her. Then darkness consumed her.

***

Angela awoke sometime later, her thoughts in disarray. She stood, the doll limp at her side. She climbed out of the hole, her eyes on the dark car parked across the street, the same one the music had been blaring from.

Quietly, she crossed the street to where two men sat in the car. She approached the driver’s side and stood outside the window. Her gaze locked on him.

The man glanced at her once, twice, before turning to the other man, and then back to her. He rolled the window down and looked her over, studying her.

What do you want? he asked, his eyes intent on hers.

I need help.

The man in the passenger seat leaned forward. He, too, studied her.

How old are you? the passenger asked with a British accent.

She had to think about it. What does it matter anyway?

What’s with the pink highlights, kid? the driver asked. You look stupid.

Kid? She wasn’t a damn kid, and she sure as shit wasn’t stupid.

Angela threw the doll in the car. She grinned, revealing her silver jagged teeth. Her eyes, which were once brown, were now green. Her dark hair was now blonde.

And what’s with the teeth?

Angela latched onto the man’s shirt and pulled him through the open window, tossing him to the ground like it was nothing. Screaming, he struggled within her grasp, but Angela latched onto his throat with her mouth, tearing out his jugular.

Hey, Reg, you all right? the passenger screamed. His voice shook. Reg! Reggie?

As he grabbed at the door handle, Angela stood. Blood stained her shirt. The man looked over his shoulder at her. He gasped.

Oh, bloody hell.

I just want to be friends.

***

Frank awoke to a disturbance on the street in front of the hotel. Normally, he paid it no never mind, but not tonight. He was tiring of the drug dealers and the drug buyers in the area. He could say the same for the whores who brought their customers into the hotel. Not tonight, he thought.

He bolted to his feet and peered out through the faded curtains. It was the same car and the same drug dealers. He only knew this as it would park in front of the warehouse for hours at a time, and only after the sun went down. The men would stay seated in the car, awaiting their customers. An exchange would then occur, from cash to a small item that Frank couldn’t identify from his view. He could only assume it was drugs. Only now, he swore there was a child standing at the driver’s door. His jaw dropped.

What the hell? This was too much. That could have been his daughter for all he knew. He had to say something, even if he got shot doing what he felt was right.

He threw on a pair of shorts and a t-shirt, sliding his feet into the slippers as he rushed out the door. Down the stairs, he went taking two steps at a time, where he stopped to cast a glance their way. Some scuffle was going on in the street, and the girl was in the middle of it. Holy hell! He had to do something.

Hey! Hey! What’s going on?

Now, the man in the passenger seat was scrambling to get out of the car. Frank assumed he would kill her.

The passenger glanced at him; his eyes wide. Was that fear in his eyes? Nah, couldn’t be. She was a child. Frank squinted, trying to get a better look at her, as she threw open the driver’s side door and climbed in. The driver laid in the street, unmoving.

Maybe this wasn’t such a great idea, he thought. Maybe they were into more than drugs, like a sex slave operation. As he stood frozen, a gunshot rang out. Frank jerked, taking a step back into the shadows. The man screamed. Another shot rang out. Then another.

His ears rang, and his throat clenched shut. As he turned to run upstairs, the girl climbed over the passenger, and out through the window, her body contorting into a spider-like weird position, her arms and legs bending in the opposite direction. His heart lurched into his throat. That was impossible!

As she climbed down onto the ground, she clutched onto a doll. That was when Frank noticed the clothing. Didn’t Angela have a shirt that matched hers? Frank took a step forward, peering at her, his eyes shifting to her face. The hair didn’t match Angela’s but the face. Oh, my God, the face! Was it Angela?

Frank descended the stairs, his airway tightening, his heart beating fast. Then he froze, his voice coming out before he could think.

Angela? Is that you?

Her head swiveled around, almost in a full rotation, to stare at him. A gasp escaped his lips. Human heads could not turn that far. He froze, his eyes widening. He couldn’t fathom … then she smiled.

One word escaped her lips. Father?

This couldn’t be his daughter, but it was.

I’ve missed you, she said with a monotone voice.

Frank took a step back, the voice in his head telling him to run, but he couldn’t. It was Angela. He wanted to run toward her, then he realized, her mother wasn’t with her or was she? He froze, looking around for the crazy drug addict. Was this a trick? Was this a way to find him? To track him down? To get rid of