Mind Blood

By David E. Gates

A new anthology of short stories by David E. Gates.

 

Featuring tales of the macabre such as The Blood, Croc, The Crash, The Ghosts of Gribble and You're Next along with short, flash-fiction stories including The Devil Needs Payin' and The Search.

 

More than 30 original stories, many of which have never been previously published.

• Language: English
• Publisher: David E. Gates
• Release date: Jul 5, 2022
• ISBN: 9798201520854

David E. Gates

David E. Gates has published several books and short-stories. His first book, Access Denied, is a true story.  A deeply personal and heart-wrenching account of becoming a father and having to fight the mother and Family Courts to see his daughter and also battles against the incompetence and lies of the Child Support Agency who seem hell-bent on ruining him, emotionally and financially.. It has garnered 100% positive reviews. The Roots of Evil, his first horror novel, is a graphic, violent, intense and gore-laden horror story. His second fictional novel, The Wretched, is an original horror story set in and around Portsmouth. David has made a documentary film about the battlefield memorials in Ypres, Belgium called Ypres – The Battlefield Tours and previously wrote film reviews for Starburst and Samhain magazines and interviewed the likes of Clive Barker, Terry Pratchett, James Herbert and many others. He has also written many short stories and poems, a full-length motion picture screenplay, the screenplay to a short film and in his spare time hosts a rock radio show. Also by David E. Gates: Access Denied The Roots of Evil The Wretched Omonolidee First Words Unzipped: The Mind of a Madman The Projectionist A Planned Demise The Ghost of Clothes Fixing the Faker The Christmas Carol Omonolidee - Morgado, Portugal, 2018. Two Sides of Vegas

Book preview

Mind Blood

Copyright © 2022, David E. Gates

Cover Artwork Copyright: © David E. Gates

Published by Shelley Show Productions

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All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced, stored, or transmitted by any means - whether auditory, graphic, mechanical, or electronic - without written permission of both publisher and author.

Unauthorised reproduction of any part of this work is illegal and is punishable by law.

This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, businesses, places, events and incidents are either the products of the author’s imagination or used in a fictitious manner. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, or actual events is purely coincidental.

Also available by David E. Gates 

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Books

Access Denied 

The Roots of Evil 

Omonolidee 

First Words 

The Wretched 

Unzipped: The Mind of a Madman

The Deeper Roots of Evil

BD’s Big Diet Book

UFO

Cinema

Short Stories

The Ghost of Clothes 

The Christmas Carol 

A Planned Demise 

Omonolidee – Two Sides of Vegas 

Omonolidee – Morgado, Portugal, 2018 

Fixing the Faker 

End Request

Motorcycle Man

The Shitty Chalet

He Came Back

Screenplays

The Projectionist

Films

Ypres – The Battlefields Tour 

Coming Soon

The Climbing Frame

Dedication

For those that inspired me.

Table of Contents

He Came Back

The Samsara Soul

The Door

A Place of Isolation

Dad

BD’s School Days

X Marks The Spot

The Screaming

An Englishman’s Home

You’re Next

The Texting

The Need

Storm Karma

The Power Cut

Stress

The Sonicook

The Weight

The Search

D-day for Deedee

The Mist

The Ghosts of Gribble

The Devil Needs Payin’

Croc

The Blood

The Crash

The Netherhill Hotel

The Glimpse

The End

About the Author

He Came Back

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The war had raged for more than four years. It had a devastating effect on those that were left in the village. Several soldiers, enlisted when the conflict began, never returned. The graves at St. Leonards Church in the tiny village of Hartley Mauditt, reflected the number of widows and orphaned children left to mourn.

One soldier, thought to be missing in action, returned suddenly on a bright, sunny afternoon on the tenth day of May, six months after the war ended.

In the nearby pub, The Hanger - thought to be named after the man responsible for hanging those put to death on a site within the grounds of the pub in and around the 1500’s – people talked in hushed tones.

He came back. One whispered.

He looks different, Said another. Something off about him.

War changes people. The first whispered quietly before supping their ale.

Their voices were silenced when the door to the pub opened. Everyone in the establishment looked towards the entrance as the soldier entered.

The landlord was first to break what appeared to be an awkward silence as the soldier let the door close noisily behind him.

Reg, welcome home, He said, trying to be amicable but not too cheerful given the circumstances. What can I get you? On the house.

The soldier approached the bar.

Bitter. He said quietly, his voice gruff. The landlord started pulling the pint and, on doing so, the hubbub of the place resumed albeit under quieter terms.

The landlord placed the pint on the bar and the soldier took it, nodding his thanks, and took a swig, his moustache becoming covered in froth, before moving to a nearby table and sitting alone.

He came back. A voice, of a young girl sitting unseen behind the bar, said.

Hush now. The landlord said, admonishing the child that had uttered the words. The pub fell silent as it had when the door had opened.

The couple that had been talking about the soldier prior to his entry, stared at the man who sat alone. He was sat, his eyes unfocused except for when he took a drink from his pint, trying to ignore the unwanted attention he was getting. After a few moments of the constant surveillance, he finished his pint and stood up and walked to the table at which the two women who’d been staring at him were sat.

I just came in for a quiet pint. He whispered to them, his voice rasping against their ears as if rough-hewn gloves were scraping along their auditory canals. The pain they felt as his words ground into their eardrums, along with the stench of his putrid breath, forced them to lean away from the soldier and lift their hands, shielding themselves to try and escape the onslaught of noise that seemed almost ethereal in the way it was quietly communicated yet felt louder than anything they’d experienced before. The soldier then returned to the bar and ordered another pint.

One of the women, on pulling her hands away from her head, found a slight amount of blood upon her fingertips. Panicked, she got up from the table and fled the pub. Reg, stood at the bar, paid her no heed. The other woman finished her drink and then stood to follow her friend. As she passed the soldier, she stopped.

There’s the devil in you, Reg Ayling. She said to him.

He turned slowly to look at her. Something in his eyes brought terror to her and she raised her right hand as if to block his face from her view, as she backed towards and out the door.

As the door closed shut behind her, Reg turned back to the bar and continued drinking.

The landlord stood cleaning glasses, trying not to show how uncomfortable he was feeling.

He came back. The young girl said again. The landlord smiled at Reg weakly, before grabbing the child by the scruff of the neck and pushing her through the door marked Private at the back of the bar.

Sorry about that, The landlord said. Kids eh?

I wouldn’t know. Reg said quietly.

Oh. Yeah. Sorry. I... I forgot. The landlord stammered.

No matter. Reg replied.

The landlord, to avoid any further awkwardness, opened the trap door in the floor and disappeared into the cellar.

The young girl that had been pushed through the door peered through the gap between the door and its frame and watched as Reg drank. As Reg finished his pint, he looked towards her. Almost immediately, the young girl’s face turned from one of fascination to one of abject terror. Reg watched as her face contorted and urine ran down her leg making a pool on the floor, which seeped towards the trap door.

Daddy. The girl whimpered.

The landlord, on hearing his daughter’s cry, climbed up the steps from the cellar. As he reached the top, his hand met the pool of liquid that had left the child.

What the... He uttered, looking towards the rear door and seeing his little girl with tears streaming down her face. He stepped out of the cellar entrance and moved forward, turning his head towards where she was looking. The door to the pub was closing and Reg was gone, his empty pint glass sitting alone on the bar.

What is it sweetheart? The landlord said, as he stepped towards her.

He came back. She replied.

I know, He said, turning and gesturing towards the pub entrance. But he’s gone now.

The girl's father went to comfort her but, as he turned, his feet slipped out from beneath him and he fell. Grappling at the smooth edge of the bar with his wet hands, he was unable to slow or stop his descent and he plunged backwards, head-first, into the cellar. His head hit the fourth step down and his neck broke with a snap so loud that no-one in the pub was spared the sound. By the time he hit the cellar floor, he was dead.

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Two days later, Marianne and Jessica Fletcher, twin sisters aged eight, were looking over the rows of jars of sweets at the local Post Office-come-shop counter, trying to decide what to purchase with the pennies they’d been given.

Their mother, a stout and stern woman, was busy talking to the proprietor about the events earlier that week.

I tell you Mrs Dingle, She said, quietly enough so the girls wouldn’t hear. He had the devil in him when he looked at our Mavis. She’s not been right since.

Margaret, I heard he put a curse on the place. That’s what caused the flood that led to that poor man falling down into the cellar. Mrs Dingle replied.

She told him that too. Margaret said the instant Mrs Dingle had stopped talking. Mrs Dingle let no dead air vacate the conversation between them and immediately replied, as the women traded gossip in a manner akin to tennis players frenetically returning balls.

He smelt of death, they said.

I’m no gossip, as you know Mrs. Dingle, but there’s something amiss with him. Margaret parried back.

How is your Mavis now? Mrs Dingle asked, genuinely curious.

Doctor says it’s the pox. But what would he know? Margaret replied.

And she only got ill after her run-in with Reg? Mrs. Dingle probed further.

Yes. She’s never ill. Never. In all the years, she’s never even had so much as a cold. Then, one breath from him and she’s laid up in bed. Hasn’t eaten since. Barely drinking.

I heard she bled from her ears.

They both did. Her friend, Nellie, went deaf later that day. When the doctor looked, he found her ears were full of congealed blood.

Oh my. Mrs. Dingle gasped.

They siphoned some of it out, but she’s still suffering. Says she’s got a terrible scraping sound inside her head. Driving her potty so it is.

Maybe he’s cursed. And bringing that curse to Hartley Mauditt. Mrs. Dingle suggested.

Maybe. Now, girls, have you decided what you’re buying yet? Margaret asked of her offspring.

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Doctor Cummings opened the door of his office to enter the reception of the surgery he’d been running for almost ten years.

In the waiting room, there was standing room only. He’d never seen so many people in attendance at once.

What the dickens is going on? He asked the matronly woman behind the counter.

Some sort of epidemic. She said, without looking up from the paperwork she was sorting on her desk.

So many. What are the symptoms? Are they all the same? The doctor asked.

All apart from that dreadful Camfield woman. She’s claiming she’s pregnant. Again. The woman said disdainfully.

What about the others Mrs Longbarrow? The doctor pressed.

Bleeding from the ears. She replied.

What? All of them? The doctor asked, astonished. The receptionist looked up with a steely glance that told the doctor he needed not to question her on the information she’d advised upon.

I’ll see Mrs Camfield first. He said, returning quickly to his office.

Miss, Mrs Longbarrow replied under her breath, the bile in her voice as transparent as the glass between her and the waiting room. No-one would marry that rancid cunt.

Mrs Longbarrow got up wearily from her chair and left the reception area to enter the waiting room. She called out Camfield’s name and escorted her to the doctor’s office. Previously, the vile woman had claimed pregnancy as an excuse to attend the doctor’s surgery and, when left alone to wander down the corridor towards the doctor’s offices, had pilfered drugs from the storeroom. The theft had only been noticed later in the day, but Mrs Longbarrow was convinced who had stolen the valuable medicines. The stern receptionist didn’t want to run the risk of a repeat of the thievery that had occurred and made it quite clear she’d escort the pregnant woman out once her state was confirmed or denied.

I’ll put a curse on ya! The horrible woman said before entering the doctor’s office, slamming the door behind her.

Longbarrow listened at the door. Curiously, she thought, there was no noise or voices that came from within. She heard the rings holding the curtain onto the rail chinking against the metal pole they hung from as the sheet ensuring privacy was pulled around the raised examination platform, followed a short time after by what sounded like grunts and groans. ‘Was the vile woman getting sexual gratification from the doctor’s examination of her private parts?’ She thought. She felt disgusted that the dirty woman, who smelt like rotting vegetables and badly needed a wash, was enjoying herself at the doctor’s expense.

After a few more minutes, and what sounded like a considerable moaning from the doctor, she heard the chinking again and stepped back and away from the door to await the woman’s exit. Another moment passed then the door opened. The woman stepped out, smiling broadly. Longbarrow saw the doctor beyond in the office, seemingly adjusting the belt on his trousers. She thought, just for a second, that something untoward may have occurred between the good doctor and this hideous creature but quickly put it from her mind believing the doctor to be too decent for something like that.

Well? Longbarrow asked, as she walked the woman along the corridor, back towards reception.

Well, what? The woman answered. You want to know if I’m pregnant ya nosey gossip?

How dare you... Longbarrow said. Before she could finish her sentence and express her outrage at her position of trust being questioned, the woman left the surgery.

I’ll put a curse on ya! She yelled, as she disappeared around the corner and out of view.

Longbarrow breathed a sigh of relief and returned to her desk. She’d only just sat down when the doctor bellowed from his office.

Next! He yelled. Longbarrow again got up wearily and entered the waiting room to instruct the next person in line to attend.

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The brewery wasted no time in sending a temporary landlord to The Hanger. A big man, with a bigger booming voice, by the name of Hedditch, arrived to re-open the pub just two days after the unfortunate demise of the previous landlord.

He allowed the landlord’s daughter, who attended with the aunt that had taken her in following her father’s death, to collect some of her toys from the upstairs living quarters.

I’m Mary. Mary Constantine. The woman said, introducing herself formally, whilst the child gathered the few toys she had together.

Hedditch. Hedditch replied.

Just ‘Hedditch’? Mary asked.

Aye. He confirmed.

Will you be here long? Mary asked. She thought the man was attractive. Tall, with broad shoulders and a muscly physique. He certainly had a presence that made her yearn for her younger days when she was more athletic and could have taken the young stud to bed and done wicked things with him for hours on end. Though she still fancied she might get some satisfaction from the hulk of a man in front of her.

Not sure really. Depends on the brewery. Probably a couple of months. Hedditch informed her. She smiled in response. She hoped she stood the slimmest of chances in being attractive to him but knew her age, likely twice his, could be her downfall. She touched his arm and felt his strength, deliberately squeezing it to test his reaction and leaving her hand there to linger longer than was truly appropriate.

Well, it’s lovely to have you here. Despite the circumstances. Mary said, openly flirting with him.

Ah, yes, Hedditch said, nodding towards the child that was preoccupied with the remnants of a doll house across the other side of the room. What happened exactly? He asked in a whisper.

Fell down the cellar. Mary whispered back.

He came back! The child yelled, startling them both.

Who came back? Mary asked, furtively.

The soldier. The little girl replied.

Mary visibly breathed a sigh of relief.

I thought she meant her father. Mary whispered, enjoying the musky smell of the man beside her.

I need to get back to the bar. Hedditch said, hoping to hurry things up and get on with setting up the pub the way he wanted it.

Yes, of course, Mary replied. Come now, Beth.

Beth collected the items, including two dolls that had seen better days – one of which had its head hanging on by a thread, and shoved them into a canvas sack and walked towards her aunty and the new landlord as they left the upstairs and returned to the public area of the pub.

It was nice meeting you. Hedditch said politely, as the woman and her niece walked through the rear of the bar and towards the door.

And you. I’ll pop back for a drink sometime. Mary said, smiling and winking as she left the hostelry, flirting once more to such a degree Hedditch could feel himself blushing slightly.

I bet you will, you dirty whore. Hedditch said quietly to himself despite the fact there were no other patrons present.

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Mrs Longbarrow closed the surgery doors behind the last of the patients that had attended with the same symptoms as all but one attendee.

I’ve never known anything like it, Doctor Cummings said. I’m exhausted.

Truly bizarre. Mrs Longbarrow said.

The level of bleeding varied but they all said it felt like something scratching inside their ears. Like an insect had gotten in there. The doctor explained.

Could something like a flea have gotten inside their ears? Or maybe an infection, from a spider bite perhaps? Mrs Longbarrow offered.

I don’t see how it could have been so widespread. We had half the village in here today. Cummings replied.

Was there any commonality between the patients? The receptionist asked.

Nothing really, except they’re all from the village. Though, oddly, all of them were adults. No children affected. Not even in the families of those attending. The doctor confirmed.

I overheard two of the women talking about their kids having incontinence. But that’s not exactly an unusual thing for children of that age. Mrs Longbarrow said.

Suddenly, there was a knock at the surgery door. Doctor Cummings took a step towards it, but Mrs Longbarrow grabbed his arm and pulled him back.

You’re finished for the day. We’re closed. Let them come back tomorrow. She advised. The doctor nodded, despite the fact he felt he was abandoning the potential patient.

There was another knock, this time seeming louder than the first. They watched as the shadowy outline of the figure moved away