Night Terrors Vol. 10: Short Horror Stories Anthology: Night Terrors, #10

By Scare Street, Peter Cronsberry, Jackson Robinson and 12 more

Get ready for a vacation straight out of your nightmares…

 

A cabin in the woods hides a deadly secret from a pair of criminals on the run. Play time takes a demonic turn when a child discovers a hellish portal in the snow-covered playground. And a satanic cult turns a family vacation into a living nightmare…

Take a trip into the netherworld with Scare Street's latest collection of diabolical horror. Fourteen terrifying tales lurk within this new volume—more than enough to keep you occupied as you voyage deep into the shadows.

But before you set off on your journey, make sure you've packed the essentials. Flashlight? Check. Salt? Check. Iron? Check. You never know what awaits as you travel the back roads at night.

But one thing is certain: the spirits are eager for you to arrive at your final destination.

And they're all just dying to meet you…

This volume features the following short stories:
1. Heisters' Haunt by Peter Cronsberry
2. The Thing That Lives in the Playground by Jackson Robinson
3. Pathétique by Drew Starling
4. The Glowering Pines by Stephen Thorn
5. The Form Outside the Window by Radar DeBoard
6. Brillante and the Terror of the Mound by Scott Harper
7. Arrival by Barbara Herrera
8. Jacob and His Piano Teacher by Yoli Ramazzina
9. As the Crow Flies by Krystal Lawrence
10. Mr. Stitcher by Sadie Gibson
11. The Dark by Peter Glassborow
12. 121 Ash Street by John Gallant
13. Daddy's Brave Little Soldier by Wade Hunter
14. Books and Broken Glass by Ron Ripley

• Language: English
• Publisher: Scare Street
• Release date: Mar 1, 2021
• ISBN: 9798201653583

Book preview

Night Terrors

Volume 10

Written by Peter Cronsberry, Jackson Robinson, Drew Starling, Stephen Thorn, Radar DeBoard, Scott Harper, Barbara Herrera, Yoli Ramazzina, Krystal Lawrence, Sadie Gibson, Peter Glassborow, John Gallant, Wade Hunter, and Ron Ripley

Edited by Scare Street

Copyright © 2021 by ScareStreet.com

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

This is a work of fiction. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, or actual events is purely coincidental.

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See you in the shadows,

Team Scare Street

Table of Contents

Heisters’ Haunt By Peter Cronsberry

The Thing That Lives in the Playground By Jackson Robinson

Pathétique By Drew Starling

The Glowering Pines By Stephen Thorn

The Form Outside the Window By Radar DeBoard

Brillante and the Terror of the Mound By Scott Harper

Arrival By Barbara Herrera

Jacob and His Piano Teacher By Yoli Ramazzina

As the Crow Flies By Krystal Lawrence

Mr. Stitcher By Sadie Gibson

The Dark By Peter Glassborow

121 Ash Street By John Gallant

Daddy’s Brave Little Soldier By Wade Hunter

Books and Broken Glass By Ron Ripley

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Heisters’ Haunt

By Peter Cronsberry

How do I let you talk me into this, huh, Edna? Tomorrow’s the day of our biggest heist ever. We should be back in our apartment goin’ over the plan, you know, rehearsin’ for how it’s all gonna go down and preparin’ for anything that could threaten to screw it up. But what are we doin’? We’re out in the sticks like a couple of old-timers on a Sunday drive, Ralph said.

"That’s ’cause we are a couple of old-timers, his wife, Edna started. We’re too old for this stuff, Ralph. I mean, what sixty-year-olds are out robbin’ banks? My ticker ain’t what it used to be, you know."

I haven’t heard any complaints out of you when it comes to what all our heists have brought to your jewelry box.

There was silence from the gallery as Edna pursed her lips and stared forward at the rolling hill country.

Yeah. That’s what I thought. Look, we got one more job. It’s gonna be our biggest and our best. You’ll see. Tomorrow, we hit up the TD Bank and then we coast.

Yeah, right downhill into the joint, that’s where, Edna shot back brazenly and then folded her arms in her lap.

Have some faith, for cryin’ out loud, will ya?

"Of course, I believe in you. I love you. But Ralph—"

"‘But Ralph! But Ralph!’ You never stop with the ‘but Ralphs’, Edna! Okay, I’ve got a gripe for you: I thought I told you to leave that rock at home."

But I love my ring!

"And so, you should. But I meant for you to wear it when we’re out for a night on the town, not when we’re drivin’ around the countryside. Do you see the way we’re dressed, for cryin’ out loud? Khaki shorts and T-shirts with beer slogans. Now, that don’t exactly scream of the well-heeled set that live in those downtown castles in the sky. I’m tellin’ ya, Edna, that rock belongs in your jewelry box—locked and at home!

"And I’ll tell ya something else: at our last heist, did you think those security cameras were turned off? Yeah, we had our ski masks on, but when I shoved my gun in that teller’s face, there you were with the money bag in your hands and that sparkler on your finger for every camera in the place to see. You made us stand out like clowns at a funeral. And you can bet every one of those fake eyelashes of yours that every cop in the city is on the lookout for it—and us. You talk about us landin’ in the joint? Well, if we do, it’s on your head—or because of your finger—so, take your pick.

And just now, you made me pull over for a pie at a roadside fruit stand. You saw how that seller couldn’t stop eyein’ your rock. How do we know that she didn’t sus—

She didn’t suspect a thing. So what if she couldn’t take her eyes off it? It’s a symbol of our love and I… I just… love this ring and I… oh, Ralph…

Would ya just knock it off with the blubberin’? Ralph whined as he swiped wisps of his salt-and-pepper hair back over his head.

I-I just don’t want to lose you, Ralphie!

You ain’t gonna lose me. Look, it’s got to be a hundred out here and you see those black clouds up there? You try and tell me that a storm ain’t comin’.

But we always go for a drive in the country before we do a job. It’s tradition. Can’t we just drive around for a bit longer? I saw a cute little country lane back there—all romantic-like.

"Country lane, she says. You know where the real action is, Edna? Downtown—as in a couple hours at the blackjack table. And after that, it’s at Winston’s for a juicy twelve-ounce striploin steak. But no, you’ve got us out bushwhacking."

Can’t we just take a quick spin down that little lane?

How the hell did I let you talk me into this? All right. Five minutes for your nature fix and then we’re headed home.

Okay, Ralphie. Let’s just see where it goes.

Ralph made a quick U-turn on the blacktop. The car spit gravel as its rear wheels caught the shoulder, and once they crossed back over, they found the spot where Edna saw her rustic laneway. Unmarked, it snaked through spruce and cedar trees that looked tall enough to kiss the sky.

Their rusted twenty-year-old beater bounced slowly along rutted and grass-and-weed-choked terrain that looked more like a haven for dirt bikers.

Oooh, it’s all so private and mysterious. Kinda like Lover’s Lane, huh, Ralphie?

It’s low through here and it probably floods in the spring. Four minutes left, Edna.

Where’s your sense of adventure? The lane probably doesn’t go very far.

Ralph’s facial expression made him look like the cable had gone out with five minutes to spare in a tied ballgame. He gripped the steering wheel as if they were about to drive into a hidden crevasse and his knitted eyebrows looked like one long and fuzzy caterpillar.

The laneway looked like a gravel-skinned reticulated snake, and Ralph followed its path as the car started to make odd hissing noises. He finally banked deep right past a stand of blue spruce that lorded over what looked like a homey and innocent postage-stamp-sized piece of property.

But looks can be deceiving.

Look, Ralphie! A house!

The place resembled a small white clapboard cabin. On the outside, it was coated in gritty dust and its front revealed chipped and curled strips of white paint that made the structure look as if it were shedding its own skin. A cyclopean window that was small and curtainless faced them, and two feet from the bottom of the cabin was a network of thick, green-leafed vines that seemed set on a mission to strangle the place. A lawnmower had been as foreign to the yard of thistles and knee-high grass as a welcome mat to Hell.

And there didn’t look to be anybody at home—now or for months.

And that’s when they heard the first rumble of thunder off to the west.

The pair got out of the car and Edna beetled over to the cabin’s black and windowless metal door that could have been perceived as more of a warning than a welcome to strangers.

The ivy, Ralph! How’s anybody gonna get in?

Or out? he grumbled as he stood in front of the place with his arms folded across his narrow chest.

Ralph looked skyward, swore, spit into a thistle, and said, The shack looks like it’s got a bad case of mange.

Do you think anybody’s home? Edna squealed. She’d have done a lot more squealing if she’d seen the coiled, two-foot-long garter snake that lay on an overturned sign that read DANGER! KEEP OUT! about ten feet away.

Ralph sighed deeply with all the enthusiasm of a man who was out shopping for a mattress with his wife. I’ll take a look around back. Maybe there’s another way in.

There wasn’t.

Seconds later, he returned and joined Edna and said, There isn’t any other way in. If there were a welcoming committee in there, they’d have opened the door by now. But since there isn’t—

What if whoever’s in there is hurt or needs help?

Don’t you think that’s a bit of a stretch? Look, we can’t get inside and the fact that we’re about to get dumped on are reasons for us to get the hell outta here. Besides, your five minutes are long done, Edna. Get in the car.

Grim-faced and with his head bowed, Ralph got back in the car and tried to start the engine, but it wouldn’t turn over.

He cranked it again. And again.

Dammit! he yelled.

Edna shuffled to the car’s passenger side, got in, and that’s when the rain poured down like somebody from up on high dumped out a bathtub of water.

Come on! Come on! Ralph groaned and when the engine wouldn’t give, he slammed the palms of his mitts on the steering wheel. His face was fever-red, and his eyes looked wild. He barked at Edna, Have you got your phone in that suitcase of a purse? Mine’s dead on the kitchen table at home.

Sure, Ralph. I got it right here.

"Then, how be you take it out of your purse?" he soothed sarcastically and then shook his head.

Edna rummaged through her purse, pulled out the phone, pushed a few buttons, and said, It’s dead. There’s no signal, Ralph.

Ralph bowed his head as Edna looked at the whites of his knuckles. She turned her head away as Mount Ralph was set to erupt and she blinked back tears. She turned to face him again with her lips in the form of an O, but Ralph cut her off with, Don’t say it, Edna! Not another word!

In seconds, she started to sob, and she dabbed her eyes with a tissue.

I married a woman that bawls her head off at the drop of a hat, he said. Then, he dialed back his anger, let out a sigh, and calmly said to her, Look. Let’s just wait a few minutes for this rain to stop and when it does, I’m gonna try and tear those vines away from the door with my bare hands. We’ll even be neighborly and knock just to see if somebody’s inside—which there ain’t—but maybe there’s a phone. All right?

All of a sudden, she brightened like a five-year-old who’d been given a red lollipop.

Ralph looked defeated as he stared through the rain-streamed windshield. He drummed his fingers on the steering wheel and after a few minutes, he said, The rain’s stopping. Wait here. I’ve got work to do.

Ralph edged out of the car and stalked toward the door like a madman bent on revenge.

As the wind screamed through the tall cedars, he grabbed on to the ropy vines and began to pull them away from the bottom of the cabin’s door. The tentacle-like fragments oozed a pungent greenish liquid as they fell to the ground and curled into their slow death dance.

Within minutes, the door was laid bare and he turned and nodded to Edna for her to do the honors.

The rain had slowed to an indecisive spit and she jumped out of the car as if they’d just arrived at a beach vacation.

Just so’s we’re not home-wreckers, knock and knock hard, Ralph ordered.

Edna smiled and gave a ladylike rap of seven knocks against the door. Seconds later, she, more than Ralph, was surprised that the welcoming committee was strangely silent.

A mournful wind coursed through trees that swayed like sightless gargantuan gnomes that guarded a beast’s lair as the spent thunderhead had begun to slink off to the east.

Maybe they didn’t hear us.

Get out of the way. Ralph nudged her aside, balled up his left fist, and pounded on the heavy metal slab like a cop set on a raid.

And still, there was no answer.

He turned the knob and shot Edna a look of surprise when the door screamed and opened on hinges that sounded like they hadn’t been oiled in decades. Ralph pushed his way inside and she followed after him like a puppy.

From inside, natural light was spare, save for a dust-speckled stream that filtered through the place’s kitchen window.

Who the hell leaves their door unlocked? Ralph said as the pair stood on the kitchen floor’s cracked tiles that were the color of a grasshopper’s guts.

"Surely somebody lives here?"

Who knows, but at first glance, I’d say I doubt it. You can take in the whole space without blinkin’ your eyes—it’s all open concept. The kitchen’s a fair size with the bathroom on the other side. The living room back there has got some decent space, but there ain’t much in the way of furniture: just a couch and an easy chair.

It feels kinda cottagey, doesn’t it? Edna said.

Ralph flicked the light switch on the wall by the door, but the burned-out bulb was out of juice.

Then, he walked over to the far side of the kitchen and looked down at a box of tools. "This place is a dream for either a hunter or a carpenter. There’s some duct tape, a tape measure, a pair of pliers, and a hammer and saw. Oh. There’s even a hatchet. I guess that’s for a hunter’s messy work. I coulda used that on those vines. Then, he walked over to the fridge that was the color of curdled milk, opened its door, and said, There isn’t so much as even a crumb to feed a starving mouse." He slammed the door, stood there with his arms folded across his chest, and looked like he could have spit nails.

Edna walked into the living room and was surprised to find that the table lamp worked. The light bathed the room’s pea soup-colored walls in a soft yellow glow. There were pictures on every wall: dogs that played cards, a hunter with his beagle in the woods, and a guy who wore a straw hat and sat on a tractor.

Ralph eyed an old wall-mounted dial phone. He picked up its receiver and found that it was as dead as their mobile phones.

Edna hatched a plan to soothe the frayed nerves of her partner in crime. The playful vixen ran her tongue across her lower lip, puffed out her rack, shook out her mane of blonde curls, got a lecherous look in her eyes, and said, Hey, Ralphie. I’m burnin’ up over here. And look—this couch is actually a pullout. Wanna join me for an afternoon delight? Then, like a game-show model, she stroked the floral-patterned cushion beside her with her long nails.

We’re stuck out here and all you can think about is getting laid? Look, Edna, I just want us to get out of this hole.

Ralph walked into the living room and surveyed a few dated and dog-eared hunter magazines on the coffee table.

Rebuffed and disappointed, Edna got up and flipped the lid on an old steamer trunk that looked like a small coffin in the far corner of the room.

There’s bedding, she tried one last time with a nod and a wink. She pulled out two small pillows and a green diamond-patterned afghan.

Ralph shuffled back into the kitchen as Edna batted her eyelashes and cooed, You could read to me, Ralphie. I found a book of poetry in the trunk.

I ain’t readin’ no poetry. There isn’t even a television, for cryin’ out loud.

I got an idea. Whaddya say we have a piece of that pie—

"Pie. You and your pie. You know, Edna, if it hadn’t been for you and your—"

She bowed her head and squeaked out an I’m sorry, Ralph.

Look, let’s just forget that it’s your fault that we’re in this mess and just ride out the storm. I’ll go get the grub.

Within minutes, he was back inside, and he put the pie on the table. "The car engine still won’t turn over," he barked.

I tried my phone again, Ralph. There’s still no signal. Let’s just have something to eat, okay?

Edna found some plates in the cupboard as well as a knife in the utensils drawer and she carved up their meager meal.

Afterward, the pair kicked off their shoes in the kitchen and then, Edna coaxed her cantankerous cohort into the living room where they found that the pullout was already fitted with sheets. She positioned the pillows and spread out the afghan.

Ralph’s anger spooled out like a spent storm. Fatigue set in on the pair, and daylight all but bled out of the sky. Nine o’clock came and a cloak of darkness stole over the place like the shadow of a monstrous ghoul.

When Ralph awoke about ten o’clock, he looked like a bear with a sore paw. That car better turn over in the morning or we’re walkin’ outta here, he chided.

Edna kept all of her clothes on, but Ralph removed only his socks and then, as the pair got under the sheets, they let out a sigh simultaneously. Edna was just about to turn the light out when she turned to her hubby and said, I love you, Ralphie.

Yeah, yeah, just kill the light, will ya?

She turned the light off and then draped an arm across her man’s chest.

The place was as dark as an embalming room at midnight. They lay there and stared at a ceiling that they couldn’t see as the patter of rain eventually lulled them to sleep.

But sometime after midnight, the cabin awoke from its own hibernation as the condensation started to form on the inside of the kitchen window. A black film dimpled and spread to a couple of inches above the baseboards in the living room—inches from where the pair slept.

Outside, a vine had crested the upper part of the doorway and had meandered like a claw in search of something to slice into. Within minutes, it had snaked down the northern side as new sprouts thickened and branched off its subterranean trunk that was rooted to the earth—a grave’s depth directly below the living room.

Rain blew sideways from winds that were whipped from the storm’s vortex. Spidery fingers of lightning scratched the sky and pointed accusingly downward toward the cabin. Trees thrashed like dervishes as the violent maelstrom threatened to tear the roots from the mossy earth. Rain fell throughout the night, flooded the laneway, and turned it grave-brown as a dead car sat in its middle, just feet from the cabin’s door. By 2:00 AM, the whole cabin was ringed with water three-feet wide as it was deep, and it churned in a counterclockwise rotation as if the structure were about to be devoured into a churning gyre.

And Ralph and Edna Butts snored and slept right through the turbulent tempest as the walls of