Legacy Tales: A Horror-Noir Fan Fiction Chapbook

By Brett Dyer & Valkyrie Kerry, Jason Jenkover, Christopher Baker and 2 more

This chapbook comprises a selection of dark, gritty, horror-noir fan fiction. Original tales to appease the most ardent movie fanatics. There are plenty of Easter eggs and nods, and a broad and diverse selection of characters to sate the most devouring appetites.

An ode to much-loved horror and cult fandom figures. Legacy Tales create fanfiction and original character content in the realms of horror, science fiction and fantasy. We strive to offer original insights and story arcs crafted to showcase our most beloved fictional characters.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Immortalis (Horrotica) Legacy Tales
• Release date: Mar 27, 2022
• ISBN: 9798201754853

Book preview

Legacy Tales: A Horror-Noir Fan Fiction Chapbook

By

Valkyrie Kerry

Brett Dyer

Jason Jenkover

Christopher Baker

Jon Dufresne

Atticus Jurnet

––––––––

Published by Immortalis © an imprint of Horrotica © 2022

In association with the sister imprints LegacyTales © 2022, LegacyMonsters © 2022, LegacyNoir © 2022 and LegacyComics © 2022.

Cover Design by Valkyrie Kerry and Ashley Land

This is primarily a fan fiction works, although original characters are presented within. We do not own the characters or rights to the characters taken from film and television fandom. We are not affiliated to those production companies in anyway. This is a work of love and dedication towards those characters and is a not-for-profit venture.

Dedicated to the memory of

Jeanne Sharon Moore Baker

1942-2018

Contents

Contents

Introduction

Vignette 1: Candyman Whispers

Vignette 2: The Wishmaster

Vignette 3: Larry Talbot, How High the Moon

Vignette 4: Arkham Noir

Vignette 5: The Creature from the Black Lagoon

Vignette 6: The Shape

Vignette 7: Batman and the Pale Moon Light

Vignette 8: Sin City, A Horror-Noir Fandom Tale

Vignette 9: Tales from the Crypt, Hellevision

Vignette 10: The Twilight Zone, A Stitch in Time

Vignette 11: Phantasm, New Worlds

Vignette 12: Jason Voorhees, Abandoned Chase

Vignette 13: Freddy, Shelter (With Jason and Ash)

Introduction

This chapbook comprises a selection of dark, gritty, horror-noir fan fiction. Original tales to appease the most ardent movie fanatics. There are plenty of Easter eggs and nods, and a broad and diverse selection of characters to sate the most devouring appetites.

An ode to much-loved horror and cult fandom figures. Legacy Tales create fanfiction and original character content in the realms of horror, science fiction and fantasy. We strive to offer original insights and story arcs crafted to showcase our most beloved fictional characters.

Twitter has provided a platform that has enabled the craft of co-writing to expand and delve into new territories, whilst drawing on other media and practices.

Legacy Tales members may be contacted on Twitter:

Valkyrie Kerry @JasonVoorheesIM

Brett Dyer @Ashy_slashee

Christopher Baker @00Commander

Jason Jenkover @CobraCommand_er

Jon Dufresne @HellboyBPRDRP

Atticus Jurnet @KaijuKitty2

Vignette 1: Candyman Whispers

By Valkyrie Kerry

Part One

I am the whispers in the corridors, a rumour in the classroom. I am the writing on the wall. A garish reminder of what was, what is, and what shall be. My very existence resides in the hearts of my congregation, for their fear keeps me alive. To deny my existence will bring the wrath of suffering upon you, an exquisite rapture where pain and pleasure shall burn and sting with the torture of time. The torture inflicted on those who offer sweets for the sweet. Be my victim, for what is blood if not for shedding?

I have come for you, and in your darkest hour the light of life shall reflect coldly through the sting of death. Do not fear the agonies, for they shall be granted in ecstasy. My words fall like honey upon your ears, heed them. This legend must never die.

Part Two

Candy, the honey of life, sweet yet deadly. Razorblades beneath sugary essences, cutting with each delicate bite. Imbibing death, welcoming it as if taking sweets from a strange. Such is the beginning of each Candyman. The genesis of legend. Its cause and it's necessity. Hope in the absence of hope, false promises defined in context through each era. A whisper in the darkness, but these are not the legends indigenous to campgrounds, they are not told over burning fires.

These legends echo in the hearts and minds of those who need to remember. Hushed tones, for to speak of them attracts the very monsters created through monstrous action and discourse. I am one legend, but my tale has been replicated across time and space. We are one in our suffering. My congregations fear reminds them why they should tremble at the constructs of others.

I was a free man in a world that wanted so very badly to quell my liberty, for freedom was but an illusion. A bee circling the hornets’ nest, the hornets ever waiting to crush the unique creature. Yet they still wanted his honey. My honey came from easel and brush. An artist, educated as a free man, my nectar sought but my history never forgotten. Patronage offered and patronization ensured. A rare commodity, one to be flaunted and encouraged, fashionable yet still an outcast. Trapped between two worlds, both filled with disdain. Such is the genesis of this tale, such is the beginning of The Candyman.

Part Three

What is love if not the binary opposition of hate? For the one cannot exist without the other. For meaning lies in contrast, but there lies a fine line between love and hate. It is not the vast chasm depicted in nomenclature. Too simple it would be. Love is the essence that drives us, the motivation that goals us. It is desire for that which is aesthetically pleasing. It is the reflection of beauty as scribed or reminisced on paper. The immeasurable understanding between two beings. What is hate if not both the opposite and the same? 

From love stems envy and wrath, and there after those blackened emotions spiral into hate, an understanding between souls. I loved her, my muse. My soul. She tamed my desire and fulfilled my yearning. Caroline Sullivan, the subject of my art. Aesthetically pleasing. Our coupling the story of legends. Forbidden for timeless reasons. Yet unrelenting, for she saw the beauty within. She would suffer watching that beauty torn and shredded before her very eyes. Our love burned in passionate flames, for passion is to be found in love and hate.

Part Four

Our love was doomed, for history created the narrative. History determined that we were not meant to be. Slowing the strokes of my brush to ensure spending longer hours with my beloved Caroline. Dark evenings overshadowing hot, passionate days. But the writing was on the wall. My future nothing more than history repeating itself, love and hate entwined as the yarn spins about itself. The yarn of disdain, the falsehood of freedom. No true freedom is possible under the evil eye of prejudice's stare. That watchful eye.

An eye that forbids love between lovers when one is deemed unworthy. Different. Unique. Shallow hearts and minds, instead of celebrating our union, and the divine gem born from it, they wreaked a furious vengeance. It was inevitable, it was my destiny. Daniel Robitaille, his fate carved. Who I once was, no longer who I am. They came for me. Those still entrenched in a world of domination and subjugation. Those who fashionably sought my craft but deemed me unfit. Her father, the town. Angered by love, triggered by hate. Vengeance prepared.

Part Five

Heyward was destined to discover our secretive love. Caroline's father, Heyward Sullivan. His patronage of my work a contradiction born of hypocrisy and cruelty. Caroline's portrait barely complete, scarcely capturing her beauty. Her swelling belly visible, her father's growing lynch mob approach. Our love countered by the hate of the masses, darkened by a grotesque attitude. As I run through the valley of the shadow of death they follow. Drive me forth, a lamb to the slaughter.

Fearful, not just for my own life but for Caroline, my beloved, abandoned to their despicable loathing. The mob catches me, severs my arm and inserts a hook. They smear my body with honey from a nearby apiary. Sweets for the sweet. Nectar for the bees' callous sting. Hideously soaked in wounds I lay as Heyward casts my reflection eternally into Caroline's mirror. There the Candyman hides. There the Candyman waits. Caroline's mirror, a glimpse into her world for the entrapped soul. Whisked beyond as the mob burn my body, cleansed by fire, but not gone. Forever waiting.

Part Six

Education, a right and privilege, does not stem purely from the mindset of the masses. Knowledge lays embedded in history's aesthetics and terrors. It is understanding whether using words of science, philosophy or art. Each offers an avenue of understanding. Swarms follow the paths trodden by the masses, sheltered under the protection of a cultural sword. Other schools of thought imparted only on the few, only on those who's minds are open to it. The brush, a commodity. Belief, a heritage.

Belief from another world, across oceans. Lost to modern man's shallow mind. Offering incomprehensible lore and metaphysics another name, such is the power of the mind. Vodun, sprung from the streams of another world, trickled into a new one. Carried from generation to generation and mixed with the seeds of other ideologies. Songs sung, traditions and rituals followed, words engraved on the soul. Caroline, open to my words, accepted this other path just as she accepted me. Anticipating the inevitable, she prepared. Belief is a powerful magic, and she believed.

Her mirror prepared in readiness; another world reflected. Awaiting my cursed soul, and predicting her father's actions she beheld it, and he held it, casting my soul into the beyond. Ever forlorn she could see my reflection, as I waited for my magic to grow. Waited for my soul to be released. Eternally tied to Caroline, to the world beyond the glass. An essence, desperate to be remembered, aching to be released. As word spread from generation to generation, my congregation grew. As did my passion. As did my wrath. As did my vengeance.

Part Seven

Lake Arthur, Louisiana 1896

Marie Philomene Glapion, daughter of Marie Laveaux, she who was accused of sacrilegious practise and thereafter obliged to seek forgiveness and conform, stares into the lake's beloved mist. She sighs. Her congregation gathers. Their ruse: a gathering of artists determined to daub their canvas with the lake's compelling image. Steadily they convene, checking their environment, for strangers lurk in the shadows. Preparing for the sermon to begin.

'They call us 'Creole,' because it is comforting to label all that is not understood, and