Night Terrors Vol. 14: Night Terrors, #14

By Scare Street, Melissa Gibbo, Justin Boote and 12 more

When night falls, a dance of death begins…

A realtor desperately tries to sell a haunted house before it consumes her body and soul. A young couple's vacation at a campground takes an ominous turn when something menacing lurks nearby. And a haunting melody leads a curious girl to a bittersweet tale of love and loss…

Grab your partner and join the spirits on the dance floor. Scare Street's latest collection of supernatural horror is a grand ball of fear and nightmares. This sinister collection is bursting with fourteen tales of terror—more than enough to keep you dancing with demons all night long…

The music plays faster and faster. You struggle to keep up, but you can feel your life force ebbing, your flesh withering. Something is feeding upon you, draining your essence. But no matter how hard you try, you can't stop moving to this deadly beat.

And once the music ends, the only sounds you hear are your own screams of terror…

This volume features the following stories:
1. Marshmallow Murderer by Melissa Gibbo
2. Organ Manipulator by Justin Boote
3. Camping with the Carnival by Jason E. Maddux
4. Serenade by Craig Crawford
5. Sold by Renee Miller
6. Gram's Garden by J. L. Royce
7. The Gift that Keeps on Giving by Peter Kelly
8. The Womb by Edwin Callihan
9. Eyeless by C. M. Saunders
10. Dark Home by Simon Lee-Price
11. The Wooden Box by P. D. Williams
12. The Limb Farmer by Caleb Stephens
13. Ouroboros by Melissa Burkley
14. Crow's Books by Ron Ripley

• Language: English
• Publisher: Scare Street
• Release date: May 24, 2021
• ISBN: 9798201217723

Book preview

Marshmallow Murderer

By Melissa Gibbo

No matter what you heard, it wasn’t my fault. People wake up covered in melted marshmallow Peeps and blood all the time. It doesn’t mean I assassinated the Easter Bunny. Probably. I’m just a worker bunny. The Easter Bunny is the tippy-toppest rabbit out there; why would I kill him? Besides, I rarely sleep-hop anymore.

***

James Q. Rabbit sat in his bedroom under the fallen pine tree. His bed of soft pine needles and long grass was a slick and sticky mess. The pastel and crimson splotches were a nightmare come to life for the middle-aged bunny. He wrung his paws. They made a suction noise as he pulled them apart and tufts of soft fur remained uncomfortably matted. A purple marshmallow bunny head adhered to his left paw. The body stayed with the right. James puked onto the smooth stone floor. Undigested jelly beans rattled as they hit the ground.

He wiped his mouth, twitched his pink button nose at the smell, and scanned the room. There was no knife. No weapons of any kind.

Maybe everything was fine. Heck, maybe it was all just a vivid dream, and the Easter Bunny was unharmed. Surely, the blood—maybe a thin paint or thick food coloring for candies—was merely coincidental to James’ dream.

James hopped to his bathroom to wash up. All he needed was to clean everything up and the world would be right as rainbows again. Maybe he’d take the day off and pay a visit to one of his numerous siblings. That would be nice. He opened the oval door to his washroom.

The Easter Bunny’s decapitated head stared at him from the toilet seat—his long copper ears dangling from his dapper emerald bowler.

No no no no... James said backing away from the scene. This isn’t real. I didn’t, I couldn’t... It’s just another bad dream.

The gray and white worker bunny stared into the once teal-colored eyes of the legendary hare; he’d grown up as all rabbits did, admiring the Easter Bunny as an idol. Being chosen to serve in his factory was a grand honor—although it was exhausting and the quotas were near impossible to reach—how could any bunny harm the legend, perpetually bedecked in a fitted waistcoat, bow tie, and bowler? James eased closer and peered around the bathroom. On the sink was an old rusted saw, a carrot peeler, and pliers.

Gagging again, the worker bunny assessed the situation: he had killed his boss. Both his home and his person were covered in evidence. And he had a head but no clue where the rest of the body might be currently.

I’m so screwed.

James sank to the floor and anxiously moved the shower curtain aside. The tub was covered in smooshed Peeps, drying blood, and the luxurious fur of the Easter Bunny. But where was the body?

Flashes of his dream came back to James as he examined the filthy tools in the sink. Tearing patches of pristine downy fur from Mr. Easter. Peeling the skin underneath and shoving the strips and pawfuls of Peeps into his mouth to stifle the screaming. Ripping out his claws and impressive front teeth. Sawing off his head just below a lavender bow tie while the Easter Bunny flailed. Gushing blood. Heat from the wounds warming his trembling paws. Grinding against vertebrae. Flecks of bone erupting with each pulse of heart-blood. The moist sound of the marshmallows dropping from the slack jaw to the slick floor.

The sleep-hopper panicked at the sight of his reflection smiling in the mirror. He made himself sick again.

Have to find the rest of him. Must hide it and get clean. No one can know, James told himself as he hurried to the kitchen for trash bags.

Best to double bag; wouldn’t do to have a tear... he mumbled to himself, turning the corner from the hallway into the comfy kitchen.

The floor was slippery. James fell hard onto his left side with a grunt. Pulling himself to his feet, he found chunks of the missing body in a pile on the rustic dinner table. The skin of the Easter Bunny was draped over one of the chairs like a cast-off suit. The idol’s waistcoat was marred by slashes and ichor. An open pouch of assorted Peeps sat between them, a gory knife beside the package.

James fought the impulse to vomit acid—all his stomach now contained—and hastily began bagging the corpse.

It took him half the morning to bag his hero’s remains in four thick rubbish sacks, clean the small house thoroughly, bathe until his fur was coming bare from scrubbing, and add another bag around each of his bags of flesh and guilt. James shook off the mental image of the dismembered corpse tearing through its triple bagging to take vengeance on him.

He sat at the kitchen table beside his small pile of evidence.

Well, what now?

The worker bunny ticked off his options under his vomit-tinged breath.

If I wait until nightfall to be rid of Mr. Easter, I could be caught if I get a visitor. Not to mention, I doubt these bags will start smelling better...

James scrunched his brow, his crooked front teeth peeking from under his lip.

Dispose of him now and someone would likely see. Probably best to wait and hope no one comes.

He looked at the pile of his late hero’s remains as though he expected advice or approval.

The Easter Bunny kept his grave silence, save for the light ticking of his egg-shaped fob watch.

James stood and paced. He thought about what would happen next. Where would he get rid of the corpse? Should he take a couple of extra days off work to make his excuse of illness less suspicious? Would there even be a need for work for the bunnies in the valley without an Easter Bunny? Could he perhaps take up the mantle of Easter Bunny; maybe being the Easter Bunny was a career as much as his job on the Egg-painting floor?

For the briefest of instants, James indulged in his childhood fantasy of becoming the beloved Easter Bunny. He could deliver baskets of goodies and hide eggs. Governance of Easter Valley might be simpler than he thought. Everyone had a job, food, homes, and there was no crime. Plus, only the iconic Easter Bunny was able to venture beyond the mystical valley James called home; the concept of travel stirred something deep within the Joe Schmo rabbit.

Almost no crime.

The dream faltered.

Sorry again, sir. He knelt beside the four bags. I don’t know why I did it. I swear, I’m not the sort to hurt anyone, certainly not someone as wonderful as you, Mr. Easter.

He stifled tears and let his face fall slack. James’ front right paw hovered over the body bits.

But I have to make you disappear.

He gently laid his paw on the remains for a few moments and made his decisions quickly afterward. James was committed. He refused to be punished for this unfortunate tragedy. He hadn’t even been awake. It wasn’t his fault.

He watched the afternoon fade away from the table. He sipped tea instead of eating, as much to settle his stomach as to calm his nerves. James Q. Rabbit now had a plan to spare himself. He’d dig up the oak sapling he’d planted at the edge of his property last week, dig down a bit deeper, dump the Easter Bunny inside, and replant the sapling on top. Take a couple of sick days and show up to work like normal. The rest of the what-ifs would be left to others to figure out.

The running of Easter Valley and the obligations of the centuries-old founder were beyond his pay grade.

***

James returned from his evidence disposal, sweaty, covered in soil, and relieved. He snuck into his house before the moon was at its peak. His plan was working out seamlessly. The exhausted worker bunny cleaned up and enjoyed a warm shower. With any luck, by morning, this would all have been an unpleasant dream for him to shake off.

***

He dried and entered his bedroom.

Hello there, James.

The Easter Bunny sat on the edge of his bed of freshly replaced grasses and pine straw. James looked into the vibrant eyes of the man he’d just buried in pieces. The room tilted. His legs wobbled and locked. Darkness circled inward until the tunnel of light blinked out. James Q. Rabbit crumpled to the cool floor, bashing his temple against the gray stone.

***

James blinked away the darkness. His recently buried victim stared at him and tapped his foot impatiently.

Good, you’re awake, the Easter Bunny said, tapping the egg-shaped watch he’d been buried with. We have a lot to talk about and not much time.

James pulled himself into a sitting position on the floor and rubbed his eyes.

Chocolate eggs, I must be losing my mind, he said when the room remained the same.

Nope, you just happen to be the next part of our dark legacy.

Mr. Easter opened the nearby chest of drawers and tossed James a neatly folded set of pajamas. So, get dressed and try to remain conscious.

James hastily dressed while muttering apologies. Easter ignored him until the other rabbit drifted past intelligible remorse and into crazed gibberish that threatened the arrival of hyperventilation.

So truly... your teeth... bags... candies... buried... sorry... dream... wearing your head...

Yeah, yeah, forgiven, Easter Bunny interjected. Sit and listen, Jimmy. Jimmy, is it?

James reflexively followed his hero’s instruction and sat back on the floor.

James, actually.

Mr. Easter grinned.

All right, James, it’s not your fault. The magic that makes our valley enchantedly perfect chose you as my successor. In two days, you’ll be me, I’ll be dead for real, and all of the bunnies here and people beyond our valley will never know the difference.

But how...

Unless you screw this up.

James froze with his paw raised in confusion.

How, uh, what do you mean? None of this makes sense.

Didn’t make sense to me either when I was a worker rabbit like you. All you need to know is the valley is enchanted to maintain the legend of the Easter Bunny, thanks to a devilish deal a wise old rabbit made centuries ago. Bad terms on the deal, but now the world depends on us to keep this racket going.

I’m going to be the new Easter Bunny? James couldn’t contain the momentary excitement of his childhood dream coming true. I’ll be magic and famous and live for centuries.

Mr. Easter guffawed for several moments too long to be comfortable. He pulled off his hat and wiped a tear from his eye. Brushing off a fleck of dust, he gently placed the bowler on the nightstand.

Nah, you’ll live a decade at most. Then it’s a gruesome demise and no one will ever know there’s been a change. But in two days, it won’t matter, ’cause James Rabbit will disappear, and no one will remember you existed.

James’ mouth fell wide.

But I have family...

Mr. Easter shook his head.

So did I. Magic does messed-up stuff.

The Easter Bunny stood and shuffled over to his sullen heir. He pulled James upright and slouched to sling an arm around James’ shoulders.

Look, you can either agree to uphold the magic, take your few years as a living legend instead of yourself, and enjoy the continued prosperity of Easter Valley. Or...

Or?

Or you don’t. And things get irreversibly bad.

James felt his shoulders sag. His jaw was clenched and the faintest taste in the back of his mouth told him he’d been grinding his teeth.

"What exactly is the deal?" he asked despite his trepidation.

Mr. Easter smiled. You move into the palace, sign your name to the original pact with your blood, and spend tomorrow gradually becoming me. I’ll spend the same time... ceasing to exist. The rabbits of the valley stay enchanted to be able to eat and create sweets, baskets, and colorful eggs, kids get their baskets, you get to be a hero to all. Then in a few years—maybe as many as ten—you go to sleep and wake up going through some brutal murder by your magic-chosen successor. But you live well until then. We all do.

That sounds awful, James said Why would I agree to that? And what happens to you?

It’s not a bad deal; think of it as making a sacrifice for all of your friends, family, and coworkers. They won’t know it, but you will have earned the title of Easter Bunny through your own blood and pain. At the end of the day, the deal is signed. It’s a tad messy. The outgoing Easter Bunny kind of... goes gooey. Every teeny tiny bit that makes up their body dissolves into a sludge while the air bubbles out and their mind fades out. It looks nasty and there’s nothing to describe the sound of a person struggling as that happens. Part of the enchantment, I suppose.

James shrank back from his idol.

I can’t.

You don’t have a choice; the magic chose you.

James backed out of the room and waved his arms across his chest.

I don’t care. What happened last night, tha-that isn’t me. I like my life. I don’t want to be you. I certainly don’t want to dissolve into some weird noisy flesh puddle and be forgotten. Choose someone else.

The Easter Bunny frowned menacingly.

You can’t mean it.

I do. James stamped a foot lightly to punctuate his seriousness. I choose to stay me.

The Easter Bunny scratched his head.

Will you at least come with me to the palace and consider the deal? he said gently. I can’t force you to sign, it’s got to be done willingly, but if you change your mind before dawn, you’ll be near enough to maintain the enchantment.

I don’t think...

I’m only asking you to hang out in a palace for a few hours after what you did to me last night! Easter Bunny bellowed.

James flinched and braced at the sudden outburst.

Sorry, but I... I don’t think... I mean... uh... he stammered as he caught the laser gaze of the bunny he’d beheaded less than twenty-four hours ago. Fine. I suppose an evening isn’t much to ask compared to everything else. I’ll go.

***

James Q. Rabbit stood in the gilded palace of the Easter Bunny. Encased on the pedestal in front of him lay an old clay tablet; it was written in a mysterious language of symbols. A large cutting of thorn bush sat beside it. It was the dozens of bloody paw prints taking up most of the document that held his attention. All these other rabbits had given up themselves to keep the magic alive. Mr. Easter peered at the tablet with reverence despite the ordeal he’d experienced as part of the eternal arrangement.

It’s not as bad as it seems, James, he said. Without the magic, rabbits live far shorter and tougher lives than those living in the valley. I’ve seen it when I make the annual deliveries.

James stood silently, counting all the forgotten suffering rabbits who’d signed in the past.

Some of them are kept in cages or eaten. They can’t talk or walk upright or eat or dress themselves. We are fortunate to have the enchantment to spare us such a fate.

The Easter Bunny glanced to James for any response. None.

And think of the holiday itself as we know it—no eggs, baskets, chocolates, or any of that stuff anymore. All those kids will be heartbroken. You think their parents are going to do all that? Huh?

Maybe. Who knows what people would do?

James met Mr. Easter’s eyes.

What was your name before you changed? he asked. I’d like to know before I make this commitment.

Mr. Easter smiled.

It was Guy Clover.

James shook Guy’s paw before removing the glass box from the pedestal and setting it on the glimmering floor.

You’re doing the right thing, James.

I hope so, Guy. And I’m sorry.

Guy shrugged.

Like I said, last night wasn’t your fault. It’s all forgiven.

James inhaled deeply.

No, I mean I’m sorry for this.

In one sweeping motion, James Q. Rabbit snatched up the tablet and shattered it on the floor.

Guy panicked and gathered the pieces and frantically attempted to put the clay puzzle back together. The palace shook. James ran outside to avoid falling debris. Atop the hillside, he watched the entire valley morph into something unfathomable.

The palace wasn’t the only structure tumbling; all the homes, stores, and even the factory were imploding. Occupants fled into the streets screaming for their loved ones. The forest bush overgrew each unnatural structure as the hundreds of rabbits lost their language and resorted to squeals of agony and confusion. James looked on as the enchantment ceased its control of the valley.

Guy had to be wrong. Any magic upheld by blood sacrifice must be bad. James felt his own body shift and found himself unable to stand. Everyone’s clothes, glasses, and possessions disintegrated. The candy was gone. By dawn, the transformation was over.

James hopped all over the woods in search of something familiar. Or someone. No one was themselves anymore. The rabbits were all too different from the relatives, neighbors, and coworkers James had known. Among a large bramble of thorns, he found a small pile of clay shards and the skeleton of a large hare lying in a wretched mire of colorful goop.

He felt some