Twilit Tales

By David Alan Brown

Twilit Tales are 50 short fantasy, science fiction, western, horror, Christian, adventure, suspense, mystery, thriller, contemporary, and historical fiction stories by the author of the Omega Gambit, En Passant, and the Paladin, that will make you rethink man's place in a strange and twisted universe!

• Language: English
• Publisher: Lulu.com
• Release date: Apr 11, 2022
• ISBN: 9781435791534

David Alan Brown

An author of non-fiction, young adult fiction, stage plays and more, David Alan Brown earned his BFA in Film and Television, with a writing emphasis, from New York University. He has worked with young people in leadership and personal development for many years and travels as an inspirational speaker. His play Lily’s Blue will receive its World Premier at the Alleyway Theater (Buffalo, NY) in February, 2018. It was included in the Landing Theatre’s 2015 New American Voices Reading Series and was a semi-finalist in Kitchen Dog Theater’s 2014 New Works Festival. In 2009 The Manhattan Theatre Source chose It Is What It Is, a full length drama, for its Playground Development Series. His comedy shorts have been performed by The Actor’s Project of New York and Frogs With Fangs Comedy Troupe. He is the published author of two nonfiction books (The Self-Help Paradox and Answer The Call), and has also written a YA novel, numerous short stories and freelance journalism through American Media Distributors. He lives in Indianapolis with his wife and daughters.

Book preview

Twilit Tales

By David Alan Brown

50 short fantasy,

science fiction, western, horror,

Christian, adventure, suspense,

mystery, thriller, contemporary,

and historical fiction stories by

the author of the Omega Gambit,

En Passant, and the Paladin, that

will make you rethink man's place

in a strange and twisted universe!

Copyright © 2020-2022 by David Alan Brown

All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means including information storage and retrieval systems, without permission in writing from the author. The only exception is by a reviewer, who may quote short excerpts in a review.

All characters appearing in this work are fictitious. Any resemblance to real persons, living or dead, is purely coincidental.

All scripture quotations are from the King James Version of the Holy Bible, which is in the public domain in the United States of America.

All art and cover art Copyright © 2022 by David Alan Brown

The photographs used to create the front and back cover, as well as all other art included in this work, were acquired from Wikimedia Commons and are licensed under the Creative Commons Attribution License or in the Public Domain. Hence, the resulting images are also available on the author’s web site under the Creative Commons Attribution-ShareAlike 4.0 License. These images are free to share (copy, distribute, and transmit), and free to remix (adapt the work even for commercial use), as long as the authors are attributed without any suggestion that they endorse the resulting work. At the end of this book, in the Acknowledgements section, is a list of each individual piece of art used with the authors’ names, relevant licenses, and links to the original images.

All stories inspired by ReedsyPrompts are available individually, and for free, online at: https://blog.reedsy.com/creative-writing-prompts/author/david-brown

Visit the Author’s Website:

https://sites.google.com/site/theomegagambit

Printed in the United States of America

First Printing: March 2022

ISBN: 978-1-4357-9153-4

For America,

In late 2020, America came under attack by a Chinese Communist bioengineered virus. For more than two years, evil forces within and without our nation have been complicit and proactively participated in the creation and propagation of this menace both by malevolent action and muddled inaction. While American federal, state, county, and city leaders declared unconstitutional mandates to wear masks, lockdown businesses, shelter-in-place, and inject ourselves with questionable, untested, experimental drugs, this author decided to make a stand and use some of his newfound spare time to write. This book of 50 short stories should serve not only as a distraction in these trying times, but as a dire warning to put our trust in God alone, and never accept the rule of tyrants.

If we will not be governed by God, we must be governed by tyrants.

William Penn

Story One:  Once and Future Past

I have decided to write my story down before I can no longer remember the past, because in truth, I have become quite forgetful in my golden years. Allow me to take you back to the year after my father died and I took over management of his London Docklands pub.

A few minutes before the damnable air raid sirens once again cried out in the night over London a young man in his mid to late twenties walked into my pub with a package. He wore a gray mac with a navy blue fedora and his parcel was gift-wrapped with twine in a brown paper sack. He set down his present and hat on the bar top and ordered a pint. Just as I’d served him, the klaxons bellowed their dire warnings and several of my customers immediately fled while those that remained huddled beneath a couple of the larger oaken tables. However, the young man at the bar rail remained unmoved as he calmly sipped his ale.

I could hear a handful of anti-aircraft rounds being fired, but no bombs had yet dropped. I poured myself a couple of shots of good Irish whiskey and struck up a conversation, Sir, how is it that you are so composed? Are you a visitor to London? If not, then surely you know we should take all necessary precautions during these Jerry bombing runs?

The young man looked muddled. Jerry? he asked.

Ah, yes, I said, "that’s old Great War slang for German soldiers my old guvnor used to use. You are probably too young to remember, but since this war began the term has had a resurgence here in Merrie Olde Englande. It was clear my last few words were sarcastic as the anti-aircraft fire had noticeably increased. I coughed on my whiskey and restated my original questions, So are you new to London…and how can you remain so relaxed in the face of such danger?"

He took a swig and smiled, "I am relaxed because I know that nothing ill will happen to us… A Nazi shell exploded very nearby and the whole building shuddered. Some of the plaster on the walls cracked and I flinched, but the young man only paused at the interruption before continuing, …at least nothing ill will happen to us today."

Nothing ill? I exclaimed. My God, we could all be maimed or killed! Another blast shook the pub.

The young man shook his head, Well, fear not my good man, although it may cost you a pretty penny to rebuild after this war, your daughter will take over management while you continue to work here until a very ripe old age. He took another drink, and so did I, as the bombs continued to drop.

My glass was empty and so was his, so I refilled them both. Sir, your confidence is fantastic, are you some kind of psychic? Do you seriously claim to know the future?

The man thought about my query and knocked on the bar top, I think yes…in a way. I can clearly remember the future; it’s the past that I cannot foretell.

Cannot foretell the past?! That’s odd talk! I scoffed. Alright then, tell me about the future, and what makes you so sure that I’ll be running this rundown pub my entire life? Last week I was quite tired of it.

The man in the mac proceeded to describe in great detail how this Second World War would end in a brilliant victory for the Allies. He told the story of a terrifying weapon unleashed by the United States on the Empire of Japan and the dawn of the atomic age. He told me of my beautiful Japanese wife, and my children, and he revealed that I would indeed be the proprietor of the pub until my death…which would be years after the second millennium had been grandly celebrated. He talked of a long cold war with the Soviet Union and expounded on several more wars in the Orient and the Middle East. He made outrageous claims about orbiting satellites and mankind’s first steps on the moon. That’s when his tales about the future became even more unbelievable. He spun stories of space colonies and the conquest of the solar system with the establishment of a moon base and a full-fledged civilization on the red planet of Mars!

German missiles were still raining down around us, but that’s not why I was vexed, How, Sir?! How can you make such claims when the very foundations of London are toppling around us? This could truly be the end of all things!

He polished off his second pint and pointed to the empty glass. So I reluctantly filled it while awaiting a response.

My good man, he said, I assure you everything I have told you is the unvarnished truth. There are many ages before the beginning of the end, but regrettably, mankind will never escape his solar system before his many lies catch up with him and Sol is reduced to a shriveled white dwarf star. When men lie, they butcher part of God’s creation.

He let his last statement sink in and then added, You’ve surely heard it said that if you tell the truth you don’t need a good memory? Well, I have a good memory, but I am not a liar.

Stop! I hollered. "Enough with your memories of the future! That’s when a thought occurred to me to try and put this stranger in a corner. Sir, if you can only remember the future and not the past...what’s in the package?"

He picked up his hat and placed it on his head. This package here? Well, I’m not really sure but judging by the printing on the brown wrapper it’s a book from the bookshop down the street.

I smirked, Surely you jest! You brought it in here! You must know what book it holds! If you really cannot lie, tell me you didn’t buy it.

"I can lie, but I choose not to, because truth is the greatest of all character qualities. In fact, I did buy this book, and I know its title not because I just purchased it, but because I remember receiving it as a gift many decades from now." He finished his third pint and set the empty glass on the bar top with a whole British pound sterling. He tipped his hat and began crossing the room to the front door. That’s when I realized the sirens and explosions had all but stopped, and my customers were emerging from their hiding places.

Sir, but you forgot your package…and pray tell what treasure does it hold? I asked.

He seemed as disoriented as when he’d first sat down and I’d used the term Jerry. He adjusted his blue fedora and simply said, It’s yours my good man. You can give it back to me when we meet again after the war.

Well, I would be remiss at this point to not reveal exactly what the package contained, but bear with me for a bit longer and suffice it to say that much of what the young stranger revealed to me about the future has come to pass. Decades have passed and my life has progressed. I married a wonderful immigrant from Japan, bought a flat, had three healthy children and nine grandchildren, and all the while the pub remained my passion. I watched the atomic age unfold and to my glad surprise I saw men walk on the moon! The book he had gifted to me in 1941 during the London Blitz was a brand new leather-bound and gilded collectable printing of a work written in 1485 by Sir Thomas Malory titled Le Morte d'Arthur. This thick volume of eight books was a compilation of French and English sources that the author used as references to tell a more complete story of the many legends of King Arthur and the Knights of the Round Table.

I have always wondered…why this particular book…and was there some deeper reason he gave it to me? My whole life I never saw him again, and even if I had, I figured that I probably wouldn’t have recognized him. I said my whole life, but I should have said my whole life until recently…or more precisely I never met him again until yesterday afternoon.

The regular winter drizzle had subsided on the first day of the twenty-first century. My pub had stayed open many hours after the year 2000 party crowd had thinned out. I hadn’t stayed on the clock until closing, but I did manage to make it past midnight. As I collapsed and shook the water off my umbrella on the pub’s stoop, I remembered a conversation I’d had the evening before with an older patron.

Why are these kids so bloody happy? We could wake up and the markets could have all collapsed from the Y2K bug! he complained.

A group of drunken football fans sang the traditional Scots-language song, Auld Lang Syne…even though the Queen had not yet rung in the New Year at Saint Paul’s Cathedral. I laughed, Don’t worry my friend, it’ll be fine. The earth has many ages to go before it all comes to an end.

The inebriated middle-aged bloke got even more annoyed. What are you talking about?! How do you know?! Are you some kind of psychic?

I didn’t answer him, because I thought back to that time when I had asked that young stranger the exact same thing. My long pause must have infuriated the man further, and he slammed down his half-finished drink and stormed out. He’d had enough drink anyway.

My thoughts returned to the present as I entered my nearly empty pub. My daughter had opened it promptly at noon for the regular lunch crowd, but it appeared to me that everyone had taken today off. It was Saturday after all…and not just any Saturday…the Saturday after the biggest party since Victory in Europe Day in the spring of 1945.

I crossed the room and hung up my coat on the rack behind the bar. My daughter got my attention and she pointed out a corner booth with a solitary customer staring out the window. He came in as soon as we opened, and he hasn’t ordered anything to eat or drink. He’s either depressed or extremely hungover from last night.

Okay, I’ll talk to him, I said, and I slipped on my favorite culinary apron as I walked over.

Sir, do you need anything? I asked. From the side, the man looked barely old enough to drink so I cautioned myself to check his age before serving him any alcohol.

The young man just stared out the window and said quite directly, It think I do. I seem to be lost. I need some directions.

I chuckled, Well, where are you going? I might be able to help.

When the man turned his head and looked me in the eye I couldn’t help but instantly recognize a slightly younger version of the stranger I had met so long ago. I clutched the chair back on the opposite side of the booth and gasped, Sir, do you mind if I sit down? I feel faint.

He nodded and asked, Was it something I said?

I pulled out a hand towel from my apron and wiped the sweat from my forehead. No it’s just that you are the spitting image of a young man I met when I was still but a lad. You must be this man’s son…nay his grandson, but gads, the similarities are striking.

The stranger looked bewildered, You met me in the past?

Well, no, I couldn’t have. It had to be your father, or grandfather…but yes I met someone very much like you…aye, nearly identical, I confessed.

He shook his head, If so, then it had to have been me. What did I say? Did I tell you your future?

I nodded, Yes, but you…I mean he…also gave me a gift.

A gift? What gift?! he implored.

I waved at my daughter, Riko, can you bring my old book? She knew the one; I had kept it on a shelf behind the bar ever since we reopened after the war.

The young not-so-stranger smiled, "You named your daughter the Japanese word meaning Child of Truth? I’ve always emphasized the importance of truth…without a doubt, I must have met you."

My daughter handed me the book and retreated to the bar since two other customers had arrived and taken seats. I cleared my throat and handed him the book, Well Sir, the man who gave me this said that I could give it back to him someday, and if you’re not a relative, then I’m a few sandwiches short of a picnic.

He dove into its pages and began reading. I sat there for a few minutes but he tuned me out as if I wasn’t even there. I left him to the book and returned to the bar to help with the food orders. Two fish and chips later I looked over to the booth to check on the young stranger. He wasn’t there! My eyes jumped around the room to locate him, and I saw him with the old book tucked under the arm of his gray mac. He put on a familiar navy blue fedora and waved goodbye.

"Thank you my good man, you have given me the direction I needed. Alas, I could only see into my future, but now with this good book I can have a glimpse into my past. England thanks you!"

I walked as briskly as an old man could to the door and shouted down the street, But Sir, I never got your name!

He was nowhere to be found, and so, those were his last words…England thanks you.

As I put this account down on paper I have purchased my own copy of the book I’d given back to him. Yes I say given back, because somehow I think that the two young men were indeed one in the same. In my life I have read that book many times, but this last time I paid careful attention to detail and took copious notes like my old school days. One character in Arthurian legend is said to remember the future and have no knowledge of the past. It also mentions that he doesn’t age like normal men; it’s as if he was born at the end of time destined to live his life backwards.

I never got that stranger’s name, but now by all that I am, I believe his name was Merlin, and that he had gifted me that tome for safekeeping. The enigmatic leather-bound book was meant to put his life back on track when he knew it would be needed, and more importantly it was not a fiction book of legends at all, but it was an instruction manual for England’s future past.

Story One:  End Notes

The legends of Merlin sometimes suggest that he was born at the end of time and lived his life in reverse, giving him what seemed like uncanny powers of premonition. Submitted into ReedsyPrompts writing contest #62 in response to: Write about a character who can suddenly only remember their future, not their past. Categories: Fantasy, Historical Fiction, and Suspense. (10/6/2020)

Story Two:  Coffee Cravings

I used to be a veritable coffee addict, but it wasn’t just the caffeine I craved. Each time I brought a fresh cup of java near my face, my nose needed the rich roasted aroma, my tongue treasured the bitter tang, and my throat thanked the soothing warmth when I swallowed. Regrettably, let me tell you what caused me to change my mind and quit coffee cold.

I had a mid-morning interview for a job downtown, so being a punctual person I arrived over an hour early. Instead of waiting in the lobby, I took a seat in a local coffee shop down the street. First I connected my computer to a hotspot and then went to the counter to order a cup of Joe. The woman barista was strikingly handsome. Her long dark hair curled past her shoulders as an introduction to her slim and shapely form, but it was her inviting crimson lips that really drew my attention.

Sir, can I help you? she beckoned.

I looked at the menu on the wall behind her, pretending that I hadn’t been gawking at her body and asked, It says you have some new autumnal flavors?

Her copious red lips smiled, Yes sir, we have three new drinks. Two of them are one-hundred percent vegan…they are Mandrake Mocha and Vulfs Bane Vanilla. She pronounced wolf’s bane with a V.

My face must have betrayed my confusion, so she asked, Is there something wrong, sir?

Well, I answered, I guess I was expecting something like pumpkin spice or apple cinnamon.

Her grin widened, I see…well we were trying something different this year; something less November and more October if you get what I’m saying.

I shook my head, I don’t really like mocha or vanilla; what was the third option?

It’s called Lifeblood Almond. It’s a luxuriously nutty new twist on our popular Blackberry Merlot red-eye. A red-eye is a robust blend of coffee with expresso. It’s quite potent.

I hesitated, That’s a strange name…and you said the other two were vegan, why isn’t this one?

Tee-hee, she giggled, you’ve heard that some food dyes aren’t exactly vegan, well we use some ingredients like that in order to tint the drink a deeper red than our traditional Blackberry Merlot. It’s just for effect, and as for the name, it’s all part of the novelty of the season.

I guess I’d heard that some red dyes were made using crushed insects and I was okay with it. Fine, I said, I’ll try one of those.

In short order she handed me a big ceramic mug of the ruddy coffee and pointed to the counter where I could add spices, sugar, and cream to taste. I thanked her, skipped the modifications, and took the cup over to my seat by the window. I took one sip, and let me tell you, it was everything any true coffee-lover could possibly desire. The fragrance was sweet and savory, while the flavor was nutty and fruity with a trace of asperity. I had only read and responded to one email before I realized my cup was empty.

I looked at my watch; I still had plenty of time before my interview, so I took my mug to the counter for a refill.

The comely barista took away my mug and handed me a clean one filled with her unique steamy brew. She didn’t warn me that it was hot, but she warned me nonetheless, Be careful sir, that’s your second cup of our Lifeblood blend…after three you’ll be hopelessly addicted.

Can an addict be more addicted? I laughed.

We chuckled together and I returned to my computer. This time I became engrossed in some social media flame-war and when I again checked the time, I noticed that I only had about ten minutes or so to walk down the two or three city blocks to my interview. I quickly stashed my computer into my briefcase and drained the last of my coffee.

I left my mug on the table reaching out for the front door, and then I heard the charming barista call out to me, Sir? Would you like a cup for the road? It’s on the house.

‘Free coffee?’ I thought, ‘I can’t pass that up,’ but as I turned and approached the counter that third time, a feeling came over me like I wasn’t in control of my faculties. It was as if my arm was on a string like a wooden marionette when I accepted the paper cup with a plastic lid and raised it to my lips. While I performed this motion like an automaton, I noticed several other customers in the shop at the high counter and sitting at various booths…and all of them were staring at me as if in anticipation of something dreadfully exciting.

Suddenly a rush of vertigo hit me like a tempest and I was free to act on my own. Instinctively I dropped the to-go cup on the floor of the shop and ran to the door, but to my chagrin I took one last glance back before my foot hit the sidewalk. Oh how I wish that I hadn’t, because the customers’ faces revealed the filthy rot of the undead and every mouth was agape with vampire fangs! The voluptuous black-haired barista’s now twisted smile also sported a pair of gleaming daggers between her blood-red lips and she licked one of them with a glistening forked tongue.

Needless to say I ran faster than I had ever run in my entire life. I ducked into the building where I would soon have my interview, and breathing heavily, I peered out the glass door to see if I had been followed. Thank the stars that I didn’t see any vampire spawn on the street!

As I continued my lookout, a woman’s voice came from behind me uttering the exact same words the barista banshee had asked me an hour before, Sir, can I help you?

I turned around to see another quite attractive young woman sitting at a reception desk, but this time she was fair-haired and pale. I quit my reconnoitering so as not to look paranoid and straightened my tie. ‘Perhaps I had an allergic reaction or there was some kind of drug in that cursed coffee,’ I reasoned in an effort to calm myself as I approached her desk.

As I got closer, I saw that she wore a plunging flowery yellow dress with a red silk scarf, and I was now thoroughly convinced that nineteen-seventy’s fashions were back in full force. I looked at my watch saying, Ma’am, I have an interview in five minutes.

She took my name and made a call to check if her manager was ready to see me, Sir, he’ll be down in about five or ten minutes. If you’d like to take a seat in the lobby, there’s coffee and doughnuts in there.

I shook my head, No, no, I don’t need any more coffee. In fact, I think I’ll never drink it again after what happened to me this morning.

She frowned, That’s sad, because we always buy the best premium blends for our guests and visitors. In fact, for the last week or so I’ve been getting my boss his favorite Lifeblood Almond expresso from Nosferatu’s Coffeehouse down the street.

When those words were uttered, my blood ran cold. ‘Her boss drinks the stuff?’ I shivered as my mind raced, ‘That’s the very same man interviewing me!’ As this chilling notion rattled my brain, I noticed that the receptionist’s silk scarf had fallen down from around her neck plainly revealing two tiny perforations along her carotid artery!

Once again I fled. During my protracted and dreadful flight, I couldn’t help but see the many malevolent eyes of suspicious strangers’ glares on the streets, and on the subway, and even on the bus ride to my home in the suburbs. Obviously I didn’t get that job, nor did I ever again step foot in that accursed coffeehouse, but still more, I swore to the heavens that I would never again sip that seductively bitter witch’s brew!

Story Two:  End Notes

Submitted into ReedsyPrompts contest #63 in response to: Set your story in a coffee shop that’s just introduced a new line of autumnal drinks. Categories: Fantasy, Horror, and Suspense. (10/12/2020)

Story Three:  Gehenna

The stable hand wept. He cried for his helplessness, he grieved for his inaction, and with all his heart he lamented her. For a week he had isolated himself in the horse barn to mourn with nothing to sustain him but trough water. His Lord Master had told him again and again that it was out of his hands and there was nothing anyone could have done to stop it. He also warned that the young man better return to tending to his duties soon or he’d be forced to find a new groomsman.

Well, he tried to do his master’s bidding, but poorly, because he could never escape the horror of the images that were continually projected